


To Tank a Fish

by OneofWebs



Series: Jaskier's a Merman or Maybe a Siren [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Body Horror, Corvo Bianco (The Witcher), Creature Jaskier | Dandelion, Death Threats, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, First Kiss, First Time, Flashbacks, Hand Jobs, Insecurity, Jaskier | Dandelion is a Size Queen, Jewelry, Kidnapping, M/M, Major Character Injury, Masturbation, Minor Character Death, Minor Character(s), Musical Instruments, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Recovery, Rescue Missions, Sex, Showing Off, Threats of Violence, Weird Biology, fish anatomy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:41:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25147141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneofWebs/pseuds/OneofWebs
Summary: Jaskier's gone, and that's all Geralt knows. He had some fool's notion of bringing him some gaudy golden bauble like he'd asked, and Jaskier is just gone. He's never been gone before, regardless of the size of the sea. He's always been right there, which means something has gone wrong. Now, Geralt's only hope is that he can find Jaskier before it's too late. A fish out of water doesn't last long.Sequel toNot as Expectedbut can be read as a standalone.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Jaskier's a Merman or Maybe a Siren [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1821676
Comments: 20
Kudos: 257
Collections: Good Relationship Etiquette (familial included) - or Good BDSM Etiquette - or Good Relationship and BDSM Etiquette





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this fic while i was camping so it is entirely finished, but out of respect for myself, Im not posting the entire thing at once. It's four chapters, so i'll post them over the next few days. it's been pre-tagged, though. porn doesn't show up until the next chapter.
> 
> also, i'm pRETTY sure i tagged everything? If something comes up that i didn't tag for feel free to kindly let me know abt it. It's hard to remember what happened in longer fics, and going through the fic thirty times again doesn't always help for some reason.
> 
> and a note: flashbacks are marked by a beginning italics and an ending italics. thank u muchly

Geralt walked down the very edge of the beach, just to where the grass turned into sand. There were no pretenses to this meeting, but he and Jaskier always preferred the underwater cave. It was private, but more importantly, it ensured Jaskier would be kept safe. There was always too much threat of someone thinking _he_ was a threat. Whether they’d kill him on spot or capture him to peel his very valuable scales right off his tail was left to chance, but Geralt never liked to think too long about that. It soured the mood.

They didn’t meet often, but Geralt had returned a bit sooner than he’d originally anticipated. There was a job through one of these coastal towns, but it did not strictly involve false claims of a frightening sea-beast pulling sailors to drown. Geralt had confirmed—none of the stories actually happened; people just took one look at something they didn’t understand and assumed it wanted them dead. If anything, Jaskier was too much of a soft heart to kill a person. Geralt often wondered if he’d even have the strength to defend himself if something were to happen.

As their meeting rock came into view, Geralt started to disrobe. He’d left Roach in town for this excursion, not expecting it to be very long. They didn’t have _plans_ this time; he simply wanted to stop by for a quick surprise. Jaskier lived in this stretch of sea, so he wouldn’t be hard to find. There was hovel of stones stacked up on the beach, and that was where Geralt stashed his discarded weapons and armor. This time, he stripped down to his clothes. It was always a risk to leave his armor, in case some passerby was to find it and consider it theirs, but no one had ever accused Geralt of making smart decisions.

He stepped down into the water as he threw back his potion. On the off chance that he needed to _search_ for his fine-finned friend, then it would come in handy. Once the sandbank tapered off, Geralt dove down. At first, he expected to just see Jaskier there; he’d always just seen Jaskier right below the water. Those times were, of course, when Jaskier was expecting him because he’d gone out of his way to cause an issue big enough the townspeople thought they did need a Witcher. This visit was more of a surprise.

Geralt swam deeper. He made his way straight towards the cave. From talking, Geralt had gathered that Jaskier actually spent more time in this cave than just with him. Geralt didn’t blame him, either; if he were half fish, he’d spent a lot of time in this cave, too. The reflection of the water, especially in the daytime, always meant it was bright in the cave. But in the dark, it lit up. Crystals were embedded into the walls of the cave in some strange natural formation of light in the dark. Geralt had only seen it once, and he thought it was beautiful.

Upon arrival to the entrance of this cave, Geralt was met with the first thing that concerned him. It wasn’t often Jaskier pulled himself up onto land; usually, if Geralt were to find him sitting in this cave, it would be with tail in the water. It wasn’t that Jaskier couldn’t pull himself back into the water, it was just that he wasn’t the type for _effort_. When Geralt was around, he had the added bonus of not needing to do anything. Geralt would carry him. On his own, it was always best to have a quick way back into the sea.

There was no tail hanging out in the water, so Geralt swam up for the opening. He hoisted himself out of the water and was met with pure emptiness. The cave wasn’t very large; there wasn’t anywhere for Jaskier to _go_ , even if he were to pull himself out of the sea, entirely. The cave consisted of one room, and while the space wasn’t exactly narrow, there were no coves or crevices. Not even crabs could hide in here.

“Fuck,” Geralt muttered. “Where’s the twit gone off to now?”

Geralt wasn’t one to always assume the worst, but this wasn’t the first time he’d dropped by unannounced. Jaskier was never that hard to find. Geralt had always considered him a glutton for punishment; the sun wasn’t good for his skin, but he certainly did _like_ the sun. Most of Jaskier’s time was spent at the surface, but there had been one visit where Geralt had gone down to his level. Jaskier did have a home, as funny as the concept had sounded at first.

When Geralt thought of a home, he thought of the home that he was used to or the homes that he’d been to. He might have even pictured an inn room. Jaskier’s home was, shockingly, just a cave under the water.

_Jaskier had all but_ dragged Geralt down through the water. It meant for a faster trip. Though Geralt had his potion, Jaskier didn’t particular trust in it. He had no reason not to trust the potion, save for a healthy bout of concern. It was better safe than sorry, because on the long list of things to do that Jaskier had, losing Geralt to _drowning_ , of all things, wasn’t on there. Jaskier may have appeared lithe and trim, but he was strong. A lifetime of battling sea current did that. It wasn’t even a chore to drag Geralt down through the water.

It was, after all, where his kind got their reputation of dragging fishermen to their death. Jaskier always attested that if they died, they deserved it, and he wasn’t trying to kill Geralt. He was simply trying to ensure that Geralt had an easier access to air, should he need it. Which, of course, on first glance hadn’t made much sense. Geralt was more than happy to entertain whatever strange notion Jaskier had, though.

“This is home,” Jaskier said, though he hadn’t actually talked. Geralt could just hear his voice bouncing around in his skull as they came to the entrance of a cave.

Home looked like a cave filled with a strange array of flora. While it looked nothing like any home that Geralt had ever seen, he could still clearly distinguish which plant was meant to be something like a bed and which acted more like decoration. Either way, they were well cared for. Other than that, it was mostly rocks that could not have been naturally arranged in the way that they were. There probably wasn’t too terribly much to do under the water.

Jaskier didn’t let go of Geralt until they had swum through the little cave to the back, where Geralt was introduced to yet another pool, leading up into a pocket in the cave. That was when Jaskier finally let him go, so he could pull himself up through the small hole and see the final part of Jaskier’s little house.

Geralt pulled himself up and slid back on his rear, brushing his hair out of his face as he looked around. Jaskier splashed up a moment later, but Geralt was too entranced to notice him. This cave was significantly smaller than the one they spent most of their time in, but it was filled with all manners of _things_.

“Geralt?” Jaskier said, a bit worried. He leaned into Geralt’s arm, and by touch alone, jolted him back to reality.

“You’ve got a lot of—stuff,” he said, a bit dumbly. He turned back to Jaskier and took hold of his forearms, a bit of a reflex.

Jaskier smiled. “You’d be amazed to find what else those humans throw down here. It’s quite extravagant.”

Geralt returned the grin. For a moment, he just rubbed his thumbs into Jaskier’s skin, over the few spotty scales on his arms. Jaskier allowed it for only a moment before he pulled away, too taken with his little collection. The excitement bloomed on his face as he reached for something.

“That’s a lute,” Geralt said. “How do you have that?”

“The humans!” Jaskier exclaimed. He had a whole collection of different instruments, but this one was his favorite. “I find them near the shore, you know. I’ve been working on fixing them up, but—” Jaskier looked to the display line of instruments in various disarray. “It’s a slow process,” he said. “Do you want to hear what I can play?”

Geralt gave a shallow nod.

Jaskier situated himself, flapping his tail in the pool as he got comfortable, and placed his fingers over the strings. After a moment with which to gather his confidence, Jaskier strummed. Geralt tried not to wince at the awful sound the thing made. Not only was it horribly out of tune, it needed new strings—which Jaskier had no way of acquiring—and Jaskier just had no idea what he was doing. He tried to smile. He tried not to immediately cover his ears. Jaskier only strummed it a few times before he looked at Geralt expectantly.

“Well?”

“You’re, uh—” Geralt struggled to find a word, and struggled harder to grin. “—quite good.”

Almost instantaneously, Jaskier went from grinning to frowning. “You hated it!”

“I didn’t say that—”

“The look on your face!” Jaskier accused. He might have thrown the lute to the side if he didn’t love the thing, so he simply placed it back where he found it and folded his arms.

Frantically, Geralt looked around the room for anything that might save him from this. He might have just offered to get someone to teach Jaskier how to play it, but how many humans were exactly fit to be this deep in the Great Sea, sitting in the home of something they were sure only existed to kill them? Bad idea. Bad plan. His eyes landed quickly on a large chest. While his immediate reaction was to ask just how Jaskier continued to be the very stereotype of sea-people, he swallowed that down.

“What’s in the chest?” He asked.

The incident forgotten, Jaskier smiled again. It was almost comical to watch him move around the pool, unable to just get up and walk to what he wanted. Geralt’s smile was nothing but fond. Jaskier pulled himself over to the chest, then pulled the chest closer so he could open it. The first thing he pulled out was a golden dyed doublet which was in sore need of dry air.

“I,” Jaskier began, wiggling where he sat, “make it a habit to go out and explore when you’re not around. You’re not around quite a bit, so I have plenty of time to go out and find things. You can’t imagine the ships that I find, or the things they have inside of them. I have a collection.”

“I can see that.” Geralt almost chuckled.

“Plenty of scorned lovers, too, you know.” Jaskier put the doublet back and rooted through the chest. He had all manners of clothes, from fancy skirts to a common man’s shirt. Within the chest was also a great mound of jewelry, and he pulled out a particularly simple golden band to clasp around his neck. “I heard some poor girl sobbing over this. What do you think?”

“It suits you.” Because it did. It almost had Geralt wishing that Jaskier wore jewelry more often. Gold was certainly his color.

“Why, thank you, Geralt. I didn’t know you cared.”

Geralt rolled his eyes. He pushed himself up to his feet and walked around the pool to sit down again, the chest between them. He scoured through it on his own as Jaskier sat there, fingers wrung together with some sort of unnecessary nervousness. Geralt didn’t search for long, and eventually sat back with nothing more than a golden cuff. It made Jaskier smile, and when Geralt held out his hand, Jaskier offered up his arm. The cuff fit right around his bicep.

“Apparently, you care a lot,” Jaskier muttered. “Maybe you should bring me some. I’ve plenty of jewelry from crying children, but nothing from you.”

“I don’t have much of an eye for it, unfortunately. I’ll keep a look out.”

Jaskier grinned. He closed the chest and pushed it back up against the wall of the cave. Then, with the space between them cleared up, Jaskier slipped closer to Geralt. They might have been thigh to thigh if Jaskier actually had thighs. Instead, he just pressed the length of his tail against Geralt’s leg but didn’t quite dare lean into him. This was all still new; new enough that Jaskier didn’t know what was allowed and what wasn’t.

They hadn’t done much of anything, really. There might have been something to say for seeing each other naked if Jaskier was not, quite literally, _always_ naked. That, and the fact that Geralt was mostly dressed. He was always some form of dressed up tight, and as much as Jaskier wanted to see what was wonder those clothes, he wouldn’t ask. It was too easy to convince himself that Geralt was just here for the exoticism of it, not because he actually had any intention of bedding a sea creature.

Geralt was the one who dared to reach out and touch. Just the barest brush against his scales had Jaskier retreating, instantly. He jumped back down into the water before Geralt had even a moment to register what happened, only to find himself dragged back to the water a moment after. Jaskier had showed him everything there was to show him up there—his trinkets and baubles. Back down in the water, he just intended to get Geralt out of his cave so he could stew on his own.

Only, Geralt didn’t let himself be tugged straight back out. He shook himself free of Jaskier’s hold and looked around the watery cave. There were more than just the plants down here; Geralt’s gaze rested sorely on an outcropping of stone that was acting like a shelf to what appeared to be several dyed skulls. Geralt didn’t have to figure out how to say anything; all he had to do was look at Jaskier and frown.

“It’s not what you think!” Jaskier flew through the water and to Geralt’s side, his mouth never once opening. “It’s the wrecks! I swear! I don’t—no, never.” He shook his head furiously. He really didn’t want this to be the thing that sent Geralt away forever.

Geralt’s face softened; he looked convinced. He’d always known Jaskier was a bit too soft for something like a brutal killing, let alone what would have been required to get skulls. The fact that more than one of them was missing the jawbone did seem to indicate they were old, so Geralt let it slide. Lots of people drowned, and it had nothing to do with sea creatures. With that settled, Geralt glanced his head towards the exit of the cave. Jaskier, defeated, was just happy to follow.

He assumed Geralt would be heading back to shore after that, and he’d be back on his own until Geralt decided to come back. It wasn’t that Jaskier didn’t have friends or family beneath the waves, it was just that Geralt was so much _more_ than that. Or, at least, Jaskier wanted him to be. He didn’t like how fast he had to leave, but there wasn’t always a choice.

Geralt didn’t go back to the shore, though. He went straight for another pool in the water. The underwater cave they’d met in a time or two before, because it meant they could actually speak to one another, and Geralt didn’t risk drowning. Jaskier wouldn’t let that happen, anyway, but it was always a risk for him to breach the surface of the water. He didn’t need to risk frying in the sunlight, so the cave worked. Geralt pulled himself up through the pool, and Jaskier moved to follow.

Jaskier barely got his hands on the lip of the cave before Geralt was reaching down into the water for him. All at once, Jaskier was being hoisted right up. Not just out of the water, but in the air. He found himself, albeit dazed, resting in Geralt’s arms. It was probably taking advantage of a situation where Jaskier was helpless, as his movement was considerably clumsier and slower when he was out of the water, but Geralt didn’t care. He carried Jaskier far enough away from the pool that he wouldn’t be able to just slither back into the sea, and then sat him down.

“That was a bit rude,” Jaskier muttered. Geralt plopped down on the ground between Jaskier and the pool, looking right at him. There was a long moment where Geralt just stared at him.

“If this is about the skulls, I’m _telling_ you, I just found them—” Jaskier tried to argue, but Geralt’s grunt shut him up.

“You look terrified,” Geralt grumbled.

“Of what?”

“I don’t know. That’s what I’m trying to find out. If you think that I’m here to _kill_ you—”

“No!” Jaskier rolled onto his side, holding himself up with one arm. “That’s not it. That’s not it. How many of my people do you think go about these little flitting adventures with humans, hm?”

“I’m not a human—”

“A Witcher, then, you arse! It’s not exactly some grand number. _Most_ of you two legged things are trying to poach us. Not—well. I don’t exactly know what you’re trying to do, either. I can only assume it’s nothing to do with a sharp, pointy thing, though. You don’t seem to have any of those.”

Geralt gave an oddly fond smile and shook his head. They were close enough that he could reach out and cup Jaskier’s jaw. There were scales peppered along Jaskier’s face, and Geralt touched those as gingerly as he could.

“I haven’t been very clear then, have I?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier didn’t make any move to respond. There were no words, no subtle shakes of the head. Nothing. He was just staring, his eyes wide and round.

Geralt closed the space between them with a kiss. Their first kiss. It was brief, chaste, and tasted widely of salt before Jaskier pulled back.

“You kissed me.”

“I’d like to do it again.”

Jaskier didn’t have the strength in his body to keep himself back. He flung himself at Geralt, wrapping his arms around Geralt’s neck as Geralt hoisted him into his lap. They kissed again and again. Geralt’s hand was in his hair, a hand at his back, pressing between his shoulder blades as they kissed and kissed again. That hand on Jaskier’s back roamed lower, smoothing over the small of Jaskier’s back where scales started to speckle together in larger and larger bits until his skin disappeared entirely and turned into tail.

Geralt smoothed his fingers down Jaskier’s scales, the curve of what might have been his arse if he were human. Jaskier just kissed him harder, threading his own fingers through Geralt’s hair and wrenching him closer. When Geralt’s fingers moved back up, against his scales, Jaskier let out a moan and pulled back.

“That’s—that feels weird,” Jaskier muttered, but he didn’t stop Geralt. Geralt continued to just stroke his scales, up and down, until he was doing nothing but rubbing little circles into the bend of Jaskier’s tail.

Jaskier sucked in a deep breath and leaned into Geralt’s shoulders. His gills flapped as he looked for air, and he closed his eyes. He wanted this. He wanted Geralt to show an interest, even if he knew what it might mean. If Geralt had questions, and if the answers to those questions were unsatisfactory, or even something he found distasteful, Jaskier wasn’t sure how he would handle it. Wasn’t sure if he was ready to handle it. Even if Geralt’s response was positive, that still left the question of how far it would go.

“Stop,” Jaskier finally managed out in a shuddering whisper.

Geralt’s hand stilled right at the crest of Jaskier’s hip.

Jaskier pushed away from Geralt to look at him, then just sighed. “Maybe—next time? You’ll come back, won’t you?”

Geralt nodded. He removed his hand from Jaskier’s hip and instead curled through his wet hair. “Let’s get you back in the water.”

Jaskier agreed. Geralt picked him right back up and moved to the side of the pool. He was careful about letting Jaskier go, kneeling first before he even considered it. Once Jaskier had re-submerged himself, _Geralt followed._

Geralt grabbed onto the lip of the cave entrance and pulled himself down into it. It had been dark the first time he’d been down here, but now, it was somehow darker. It was still. The only thing that moved was Geralt and the water he pushed as he swam deeper into the cave. The plants were still. The reflection of the water was still. Geralt chanced deeper, hoping that it just meant Jaskier was hiding in the back, in his private little air-pocket. He swam for the little opening maybe faster than he would have, otherwise.

It was the same as their cave. He saw no tail dangling down into the sea. Still, he chanced it. He pulled himself up through the pool and sat right on the edge. Once again, he found the little cave _empty_. Nothing but Jaskier’s things.

At that point, Geralt was struggling not to assume the worst had happened. He knew Jaskier didn’t just float around in the water waiting for him to come around; for all he knew, Jaskier had gone off into parts of the sea that he couldn’t follow. That didn’t have to mean that’s where Jaskier was, though. There were plenty of dangers, especially with how close to the surface Jaskier liked to roam. For all Geralt knew, his growing paranoia was correct, and Jaskier had been caught in some vengeful fisherman’s net.

The only thing he could do would be to walk into town and ask about it. If he were lucky, maybe someone would know what had befallen Jaskier. They wouldn’t know him by name, but a creature like him was hard not to spot. If he’d been taken out of the water, someone was bound to have notice him. It was just a matter of who noticed and what they’d seen. Geralt could figure out how panicked to be when he knew what was going on.

Until then, Geralt dove back into the water with a subtle splash. Jaskier wasn’t here. That was all he knew. He wasn’t going to know more until he got himself back to the surface and back to town. Hopefully, given the close proximity of the town to the water, _someone_ knew something.

Geralt pulled his armor back up. He re-armed himself. The boots, the gauntlets. Everything. He walked straight back to down looking like the Witcher he’d been when he left; it was the best defense he had against looking like a paranoid lover. He and Jaskier went ages without seeing each other; it’d never posed a problem until this moment, precisely. Not for Geralt, anyway. He still remembered the last time he’d visited—Jaskier’s horrible concern that Geralt was only around for the free coin. It wasn’t true. Trying to prove that was posing difficult.

As he arrived back in town, Geralt tried not to think about it. He definitely tried not to think about the stupid thing he’d gone and done. Getting coin was hard enough. Keeping it was harder when he’d decided to drop a pretty few gold ones on something he thought Jaskier might like. It was one of those draped, gaudy necklaces strung with the color gold. It wasn’t real, couldn’t have been. But he knew Jaskier would have liked it all the same. It would have been the first real gift that Geralt ever gave him. He would have treasured it _more_ than real gold.

He needed to find Jaskier to be able to give it to him. The first place he stopped was the most obvious place to stop: the inn. Innkeepers and bartenders alike just seemed to know everything going on in a town; people didn’t know how to keep their mouths shut when they had a warm pint of ale with their dinner. When people got to talking, they really got to talking.

“Welcome on back,” the woman behind the counter said. “Didn’t think we’d be seeing you around these parts quite so fast.”

“Following a lead,” Geralt grumbled, coming up to the counter. He didn’t bother to take a seat, just leaned forward onto his elbows. “Hoping you might know something.”

“Well, I know a lot of somethings, dear. What something specific?”

“I was wondering if you know anything about a siren out there in the sea. Maybe one that’s been removed from the sea.”

The woman leaned forward onto the counter, resting her head in her hands. “Can’t say that I do. Get a lot of fishermen up here. If one of them caught something like _that_ , you’d be sure I’d be the first to hear about it. Hear those scales be catching lots of coin these days.”

Geralt didn’t like the sound of that. He’d heard of this trade, and what he knew of it, it wasn’t anything pleasant. If the scales came off a _live_ siren, merperson, whatever—it was an extremely painful process. They lost and regrew scales the same as any, but when the scales were live, pulled right out of their flesh, it wasn’t pretty. The only way to avoid the shrieks was to kill them outright. Neither option bode well for Jaskier, and it only made Geralt more nervous.

“I’ll check around the docks,” he muttered.

“Sounds a good idea, that one. Not all of those bastards come on down for supper. You want anything while you’re here, then?”

Geralt shook his head. “No, thank you.”

“Suit yourself then. You know where to find me if you get hungry.” She pushed off the counter and resumed cleaning dishes.

Geralt thanked her for her assistance, what little of it she could offer, then headed back out the door. He’d ask around in town before heading down to the docks; he needed to get Roach, anyway. He wasn’t walking to the docks, especially if that was to be his last stop.

Town had nothing to offer him. No matter who he asked, nobody knew what he was talking about. Some of them were even convinced that there were no humanoid sea-creatures in the sea. Others were convinced that Geralt had killed them all, with how often he stopped by. No one was going to suspect that Geralt hadn’t killed any of them and had in fact slept with one, instead. Nobody saw anything and nobody knew anything; nobody was any help. Nobody was even worth the time Geralt had given them.

He headed to the stable next and didn’t bother asking questions there. He went straight for Roach and got her ready for their ride out of town. It wouldn’t be along one, but after, Geralt didn’t know where he might stop in this quest. All he knew was that nothing was changing. He wasn’t _learning_ anything.

No one at the dock knew anything, either. They all certainly talked like sailors and fishermen who knew a thing or several about the fish people, but none of them had ever really _seen_ one, from the way that they talked about them. Jaskier wasn’t actually a siren, and as far as Geralt knew, there weren’t _any_ sirens in the Great Sea. The fish people here were just merpeople. They didn’t have the telltale wings that sirens had. Jaskier might look nice with a good pair of wings, but he wasn’t the right species for it.

With nothing to be found, Geralt was beginning to just feel drained. It was like Jaskier had disappeared entirely. Or, worse, like he’d never been there at all. The only thing left for Geralt to do was just to leave, but he couldn’t quite manage the strength for that. With his final interviewees left as failures, Geralt mounted Roach and headed back towards the beach. He could offer himself one night of misery before he headed back down the path for another town. Maybe, if he traveled far enough, _someone_ would know something.

Geralt was just hoping that _something_ wasn’t where to find Jaskier’s scales, woven together into some awful necklace or top. Jaskier had beautiful scales; it was such a unique shade of blue that Geralt couldn’t place another time he’d ever seen the same color. As sure as Geralt was that they’d catch a fair price, he was even surer that Jaskier was the only one who should have those scales.

He headed back for the beach in silence, nothing more than the beat of Roach’s hooves against the beaten path. She took him straight back to the beach where the scuffs of his armor and weapons were still clearly lined in the sand. In the horizon, where the sun was beginning to set, Geralt could see the shadow of their cave. He could not see Jaskier, but he decided to take the chance that that might change. If he stayed here for the night, maybe Jaskier would find him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mmm this chapter actually has porn in it. also it ends on a flashback ur welcome

Jaskier closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around himself, because it was the only thing that didn’t hurt. The sun was beginning to set: the only blessing he had seen. He’d been in this _tank_ the entire day; it was barely large enough to hold him. He certainly couldn’t stretch out, so everything was starting to go stiff. Still, he chose this curled up ball position, because the less of him was in the sun, the better. Already, it had tinged his skin a light pink. The fact that sunset was upon him was the only saving grace Jaskier had.

He chanced an eye open only when he couldn’t feel the heat of the sun. The people for the day were trickling out, and that was almost more dangerous with the sun. Jaskier had seen the people who’d captured him, and the only looks they ever had to offer were angry, dagger-sharp glares. Neither did he know who these people were or what they wanted from him, but whatever it was, Jaskier wasn’t performing to expectation. He didn’t know what that meant for him, but he hoped to all the sea that it didn’t hurt.

“Alright, get to cleaning up ye gits!” Torven shouted. Jaskier didn’t know who they were, but he knew their names. Torven was the taller one with a scraggily beard and dull colored eyes. He seemed to be the angrier of the two of them, too. His gazes always left Jaskier feeling a bit cold, even if he didn’t know what he’d done wrong.

“You, with me,” Torven said, gesturing to the shorter man beside him. That was Hall, a very normal and unassuming name. Hall was around for the muscle; Jaskier remembered, because Hall had been the one who pulled him out of the net. He’d never met another human, but he hadn’t expected any of them to be as strong as Geralt was. Hall’s hold was colder, though. Jaskier was left only with fear as they began to approach him.

_Jaskier swam after_ Geralt, always going just a little slow. Purposefully. The view was nice, and Jaskier didn’t always want to show Geralt up. Sometimes it was just nice to take a leisurely swim through the waters. They swam right back to shore, though Jaskier only came as far up as he needed to. Geralt had plenty to worry about without making sure he needed to be dropped back off into the water. Jaskier had beached himself before, once or twice. Thankfully, only when Geralt was there to rescue him.

Jaskier leaned into the sand and watched as Geralt pulled himself all the way up. A beached human. Might have even Jaskier laughed to himself if he wasn’t too busy watching. He saw Geralt’s pile of armor, his weapons. Across the road, he could even see Geralt’s strange four-legged friend. A horse, Geralt had said. It wasn’t like Jaskier knew what that meant, but he thought she was pretty, nonetheless.

“You don’t have to follow me every time, you know,” Geralt said.

“I like to. Isn’t that something you humans do—?”

“I’m not a human.”

“Walk each other home?”

Geralt sighed, but he allowed himself the smallest of smiles. “Yes, they do.”

“You should thank me. There could be brigands nearby. What if you needed my help?”

“What exactly would you do? Grow legs and jump to my rescue?” Geralt slipped his swords back over his shoulders, then turned to look at Jaskier. The current beat up against him, but he didn’t seem to mind it. It was a gentle, almost calming feeling against his skin.

“No, I would not. But I do know a few songs that might scare them off. We don’t always sound so pretty, you know. I mean, I may look quite gorgeous, but every now and again, there are quite a few fearsome sounds I can let out. It’s kept me from getting eaten, that’s for sure.” Jaskier winked then turned back to face the sea.

Geralt actually almost laughed. “I’m glad to know you’ll be there for my rescue.” He stepped back down into the water, ignoring the fact that it probably wasn’t the best way to treat his boots. He squatted beside Jaskier and kissed his shoulder. That had Jaskier’s attention on him, again.

“I would,” Jaskier promised. “You’d come to mine, right?”

“Don’t see what sort of danger you’re getting into under there, but if you get tangled in seaweed, I’ll be sure to assist.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “You’re insufferable,” he groaned.

But, when Geralt leaned into him, Jaskier met him halfway for another kiss. Geralt put a hand around his chest, likely to brace himself against the current of the sea. He always managed to find Jaskier’s scales when he touched, and the first brush of Geralt’s fingers into a pack of scales right along his ribcage had Jaskier pushing back.

“Stop!” He laughed. “You know they’re sensitive. Why do you insist on being such an arse.”

Geralt smiled. “I’ll see you later, buttercup.”

“Wait—buttercup? What’s that? Geralt!” Jaskier shouted after him indignantly, but Geralt just waved over his shoulder.

Jaskier huffed and turned back out to the water. He leaned back onto his hands and flapped his fins in the water. It was one of those things that Geralt liked to do. He wouldn’t answer Jaskier’s questions until he came back. As much as it was assurance that Jaskier wanted him back, it was assurance that he _would_ be back to answer it. A subtle thing, but it meant the world. It settled warm in Jaskier’s chest, the more he thought about it. Geralt was going to great lengths in order to prove Jaskier’s fears were wrong.

It made him happy. He smiled to himself. Just before he was ready to jump back into the water and go about his way when he heard a clopping sound from behind him. He assumed it was the sound of a horse. He’d heard it as Geralt left, so it must have meant Geralt was back.

“Did you forget something? Another kiss, maybe—?” Jaskier turned around in the water and stopped dead where he stood. That wasn’t Geralt.

“Now is _that_ what you were doing?” The tall one laughed. “Can’t wait to tell the world that there’s a Witcher kissing _fish_ out here. How fucked up?”

Jaskier shut his mouth instantly. He didn’t talk to humans. He didn’t interact with them. He’d seen it go bad one too many times for it to be comfortable, but he’d stranded himself. He was sitting on the sand; even if the water were right there, high enough to keep his tail entirely submerged, he’d need to move farther down to be able to swim again. He was trapped. He didn’t even have time to realize what he’d done to himself before he saw the second man, heard him approach.

Three seconds. It took three seconds for them to reveal their plan, and Jaskier didn’t have the luxury to _react_. His eyes went wide. The net came out into view. He tried to move, tried to scramble, but his fingers dug into the sand too far instead of pushing him forward. He barely hit the water before the net was sinking around him, and all they had to do was _watch_. Jaskier struggled. He tangled himself up further, kicking his tail. Trying to get out, but no matter how he clawed, he couldn’t find the escape of the net.

It took the both of them to drag Jaskier out of the water, and then, Jaskier was helpless. Even if he got out of the net, he was too far from the water. He’d have to drag himself back, and they could just catch him, at that point. Grab him by the arms and drag him back.

He should have shouted. Geralt may not have been close enough still to hear a normal shout, but fish people had vocal cords like no human, like no Witcher. He _might_ have been able to catch Geralt’s ear, but fear had paralyzed him. They dragged him farther and farther away from the water; Jaskier felt himself gasping for air, even if he didn’t need the water to breathe, he suddenly longed for it. The air wasn’t enough. He didn’t know where they were going, who they were, only that he was being hoisted up into a _cage_.

They dropped him into it and closed a latch on top of him. He was netted, caged, and stuck. They were just laughing. Laughing, laughing. Jaskier covered his ears and closed his eyes. His voice went dry as the rest of his body started to.

“Took us long enough to catch a damn fish,” the tall one said. “Are you ready for some heavy lifting, Hall?”

“More than, Torven,” Hall replied. “You think this’ll be a good addition?”

“If I didn’t, we wouldn’t have been wasting time trying to find one. These things never get close enough to the surface to catch.”

“Bet if we could afford a boat—” Hall laughed, but Torven elbowed him in the arm to shut him up.

Jaskier scraped his sharp little claws into the wood of his cage and tried not to shiver with this sudden, dark dread. All he could hope was that they didn’t mean to kill him or that Geralt would find him before they did. The only problem was they were going in the direction opposite which way Geralt had gone. How would Geralt ever find him?

He should have screamed.

All Jaskier did was listen to them talk. He didn’t bother trying to free himself. Every second was untold distance from the water. For all he knew, he’d never see it again. He was already defeated and listening to them converse wasn’t doing anything to change that. They owned a traveling show, and Jaskier was to be their newest addition. They’d never had a fish person in their show, and so long as Jaskier _survived_ the change in terrain, they were hoping to have him for a long time.

Unfortunately, they didn’t sound particularly confident that Jaskier would survive. They’d apparently had a fish person before, and that one hadn’t survived long. After that comment, they turned their attention back on Jaskier. His heart plummeted.

“This one’s quiet, though. That other one had a yapper,” Torven said.

“You think this one has a name?”

“Oh, I’m sure it has a name, but who cares? Best I can hope for is the thing stays quiet. Patrons don’t always like when they talk, you know.”

“Do you talk?” Hall asked. Jaskier didn’t respond. “You think it knows any tricks?”

“It better do something, or it’s not going to like what happens.”

Jaskier jolted, his shoulders hunching up as the fear struck him. What were they going to do to him?

They’d seen his jolt of fear and both burst out into a bout of laughter. Nobody ever thought that the creepy sea creatures had feeling, but this one certainly did. This one was trembling like a leaf, wishing and hoping that Geralt would just somehow know he was in trouble and come back for him. Geralt had said he would always jump to Jaskier’s rescue, hadn’t he? But how would he know anything had happened? Jaskier tried not to think too much about it and just let his eyes close as the ride continued.

He knew they’d arrived when the cart came to a sudden halt. Jaskier wasn’t stuck in the cage for much longer, after. Hall was the one who came to release him. The latch came open, and Hall pulled Jaskier out of the cage like he was nothing more than a sack of potatoes. He threw Jaskier over his shoulder and walked him across some large patch of dirt. Once he reached the end of it, Jaskier was slammed down on a table. He was there for just the time it took Hall to get the net off of him.

Then, much like he was just an overgrown trout, Hall pushed him off the edge of the table. _He splashed right into a tank_.

Jaskier had been in that tank ever since; he didn’t know how long he’d been here, only that the sun was starting to burn his skin. They weren’t pleased with him, and he knew that. He didn’t know _why_ , but it’d led to this. When he was first put out, a fish on display, he’d been in the shade. Torven and Hall were smart enough to know that creatures like Jaskier didn’t do so well int he sun. They were also smart enough to use it against him, and when he hadn’t met their unspoken expectations, his tank was dragged out into the light.

Now, with the sun setting, they approached him. He still wasn’t doing what they want but putting him out in the sun was making him want to do things even less. If he could just stay perfectly still, somehow, that was going to save him from the sun. It’s what his instincts told him to do, so he listened.

“Are you going to do anything?” Torven asked, knocking his knuckle against the glass.

Jaskier just looked at him. He hadn’t talked since he’d been taken out of the water.

“This only gets worse for you the more you don’t do anything.”

Still, Jaskier didn’t speak. That didn’t impress Torven one bit.

“Leave this one out!” Torven shouted back into their little show. The rest of people working were busy dragging away carts, throwing up curtains to cover the _rest_ of the monsters they’d managed to capture. Jaskier was going to be left out in the open, and while he was used to chilled waters, this was an entirely new experience. He’d go from roasting in the sun to freezing in the night.

Maybe he could handle it. Maybe it would be a nice change from the sun all day. If it weren’t, he’d have to seriously consider his plan. So far, he was no closer to getting out of this situation than he’d been the moment they’d bought him here. He didn’t know how much longer he’d be able to hold out. Waiting for Geralt to come and rescue him wasn’t doing him any actual good in terms of Geralt showing up. Geralt wasn’t here; he was trapped in a cage. If he didn’t think of something quick, he might be like the last merperson they had. Dead.

By the time night hit, Jaskier regretted his decision to stay quiet, to stay still. He was freezing, and no matter how he curled in on himself, he couldn’t find any warmth. The only comfort he had was knowing that the rest of his prisoner peers were all in some state of suffering. Torven and Hall didn’t go to any length to make sure their show pieces were taken care of. It didn’t take much to figure it out. Jaskier could already pinpoint the three who were starving.

He hadn’t looked at who suffered in this prison with him, but he knew that most of them were wounded or ill. He hadn’t been here for more than a day; it couldn’t have been more than a day, and already, his skin was singed, and he hadn’t eaten anything since the last meal he’d had in the sea. He was starving. The chill in the air wasn’t doing anything to fix the effect of the sun. The water in his tank was slowing the course, but Jaskier knew it wouldn’t be long until even the water couldn’t keep him safe.

His skin would start to harden and crack. If he was here for too long—he was terrified to know what might happen. He’d heard of it happening, stories shared by mouth from others of his kind. There was every chance the story had gotten changed by the time it reached him, but he’d heard of it. Merfolk left in the sun for too long found their skin so dry that, when the cracks began to cut deep, whole pieces of skin fell right off their bodies. Jaskier hoped to never know what that might mean. What it might look like.

All he knew was that he needed to get out of here. He couldn’t even begin to think of a plan; he would die outside of this tank. Maybe he would die in the tank, but it’d be slower. It’d be less drying up on the dirt until his skin peeled away. He’d be bone.

Geralt would come for him. He just had to hope Geralt would come for him fast enough that he would be more than dried skin and bone. Ideally, Geralt might even come fast enough that this damage wouldn’t be permanent. Geralt. Jaskier was just going to think about Geralt. Geralt _loved_ him. Had he ever said that he did? Jaskier had assumed it, anyway, from the way that Geralt treated him. Maybe he had doubts, insecurities, but who didn’t? This wasn’t exactly the type of relationship that was destined to succeed.

But Geralt always came back. More than that, Geralt had never found a piece of him gross. Maybe it was more than inappropriate to think about, freezing out in the open, but there was _comfort_ in remembering the first time he’d ever laid with Geralt.

_Geralt stared at_ Jaskier for what felt like an eternity. They were sitting in their cave, but on opposite sides. Jaskier had scooted around the pool until they were, and Geralt had been too shocked to really do anything about it. He’d just watched, always a bit fascinated by how Jaskier pulled himself around. Once Jaskier had settled himself directly across the pool, he realized he’d been a bit stupid. All he’d had to do was jump back in and swim, but he’d done that, instead.

Jaskier was losing his mind, and Geralt could see that right out in front of him. There was fidgeting, silly decisions, and a flush down Jaskier’s face.

“I’m not human,” Jaskier blurted out.

“I hadn’t realized,” Geralt responded, taking a less than subtle glance down at Jaskier’s tail.

“Right, okay. That was a foolish thing to say. You know that. I just—I know what you want.”

“What is that?”

“You want to—you know. Why do I have to say it? It’s the way you touched me last time you visited!” Jaskier couldn’t handle his own overflow of nervousness, so he shouted. Geralt didn’t react with more than a brief smirk.

“You’re right. It’s what I’d consider _natural progression_ , but if you don’t want to—”

“I do!” Jaskier shouted. “It’s just—” he sucked in a deep breath and folded his arms up over his chest. His skin alone was strange, not quite the same texture that Geralt was no doubt used to. Then, there were the scales. Geralt seemed to have a particular fondness of them, so Jaskier wasn’t worried about that. It was the rest of everything that had Jaskier worried. His tail. How _different_ everything would be. He worried that Geralt would learn just how it would be different and then decide it was too disgusting.

“Talk to me,” Geralt urged.

Jaskier shook his head. “I want to show you.”

“I’m more of a hands-on learner.” Geralt wasn’t taking _no_ for an answer. He stood up and walked around the pool, coming to sit right beside Jaskier. This thigh was right up against Jaskier’s tail, and that touch alone had Jaskier shivering. Then, Geralt just had to lean in close enough that his breath danced along Jaskier’s cheek.

“I want you,” Geralt whispered. “Show me.”

Jaskier couldn’t refuse that. He didn’t want to refuse it. With a subtle nod, he even _encouraged_ it, and Geralt was suddenly touching him. He kept his hand above Jaskier’s waist, roaming over his chest and feeling around the speckled scales. Jaskier tried to focus on himself and not Geralt’s fingertips, nor his hungry gaze as he watched Jaskier’s fingers dance along his tail. Where Jaskier stopped, Geralt could see the difference in the scales. They were easy to move, not quite so rigid. Beneath, there was just skin.

Jaskier spread his fingers down. He wouldn’t glance at Geralt, but he could hear the intake of breath as Geralt saw what he had to offer. The slit in his tail. The more Jaskier massaged it, the wider it opened. His tail flicked in little, sharp jolts. His breath caught in his throat. Geralt didn’t need to know precisely what was going on to know that it was making Jaskier feel good. Jaskier was touching himself, chewing on his bottom lip as the pleasure swelled up through his body.

“Can I help?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier shook his head. “Just—where you are.”

Geralt leaned in, brushing his lips along Jaskier’s jaw. He ventured down, and the moment he mouthed over Jaskier’s gills, Jaskier gasped. It was such a beautiful noise; Geralt wanted to hear more. He was done being reserved about how much he needed this. He moved his hand—leaving Jaskier’s scattered scales and going straight for his chest.

“Geralt—” as Geralt brushed over his nipple. Jaskier’s breath caught in his throat, and he struggled to focus as Geralt palmed over him.

“Keep going. Let me see.”

Jaskier nodded. He had to ignore Geralt or this wasn’t going to go any further. No matter how _good_ it felt to have Geralt against him like this, one hand at the small of his back while the other worked over his chest. Geralt tweaked at his nipple, kissed over his gills. Jaskier was going to lose himself to this. It was better than he’d ever imagined, and Geralt wasn’t shying away from him. If anything, he was making sure Jaskier knew that it was the inhuman parts of him that were the best.

His gills were sensitive. The patches of scales were. Geralt would learn more about the tail as Jaskier continued. Jaskier rubbed himself, spreading his fingers over his slit. He gripped his free hand into Geralt’s thigh like it might ground him, but oh, it just pushed Geralt further. He nipped at the flaps of his gills, and Jaskier could have just cried right there.

“Keep going,” Geralt urged, and Jaskier was desperate to comply.

His worries were flown away, completely. It was purely about pleasure, now. He spread open his slit, hips jerking at just the touch of his fingers. There was no going back, now. He was hot, aroused. His very body was just tingling with the pleasure, and it was only growing as Geralt continued his assault. It didn’t take much longer for Jaskier’s cock to press right out of his slit.

“You have to let me,” Geralt suddenly gruffed right into his ear, nosing along the webbed fins there. “Let me touch you, Jaskier.”

Jaskier’s hand fell away immediately, and Geralt’s hand replaced it. There was no hesitation, either. Geralt wrapped his fingers around the base of Jaskier’s long, wet cock. Geralt stroked him, slowly, running his fingers from the thick base to the tapered, little tip. He felt along the ridges, spreading the slick along the length of Jaskier’s cock. There was so much of it; it dripped down over Geralt’s fingers onto Jaskier’s tail, and that alone seemed to make Jaskier shiver all over again. He was so, desperately sensitive.

“Tell me what you want,” Geralt said.

“Inside me,” Jaskier gasped, his hips bucking, tail flapping.

“Show me.”

Jaskier grabbed Geralt’s wrist and pushed his hand down farther. He rested his fingers over Geralt’s and used that to direct him to exactly where he needed to go. Then, Jaskier let go of Geralt’s hand entirely. He grabbed for Geralt’s shirt, instead, wringing his fingers into the damp fabric. All Geralt did, at first, was circle his fingers around the opening. That alone had Jaskier trembling, shifting to bury his face into Geralt’s neck. When Geralt finally pressed a finger inside, Jaskier’s jaw dropped open in a loud, drawn out moan.

His hips bucked almost instantly, and his fins flicked all on their own. Geralt kept a steady hand right at the small of his back, and Jaskier was grateful for it. It kept him from going too far, but he could still feel everything. Geralt pressed into him slowly. Jaskier keened, rolling his hips to take Geralt deeper. It was a tight fit, but Geralt seemed to know exactly what he was doing. He worked his finger in shallow little thrusts, first, working himself deeper and deeper until he could twist his finger to the side.

Geralt pulled back, pulled his hand away entirely to stroke down Jaskier’s cock again. He gathered up that slick and brought it back down to ease his passage as he pressed two fingers down, this time. Jaskier gasped, but Geralt held him steady.

“Have you never?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier shook his head. “Not—not like this, I mean. I don’t—” Jaskier gulped. He _really_ didn’t think this was the time to talk about a history, and Geralt seemed to agree. He was suddenly crooking his fingers, and Jaskier’s breath just left him.

“Do you think you can take more?” Geralt asked. He spread his fingers apart, trying to gauge for himself what Jaskier might be able to take.

“I can,” Jaskier promised. “ _Please_.”

“You’re so pretty when you ask nicely.”

Jaskier trembled and was well rewarded as Geralt pressed in a third finger. Jaskier opened right up for him, trembling and spasming around the intrusion. Geralt was nothing if not enamored, watching the way his fingers disappeared over and over again. Jaskier took him perfectly, took him _deep_. Geralt didn’t know how long he’d be able to restrain himself. His cock was achingly hard, straining against his trousers. He didn’t have a hand to spare, but there was one thing he could try.

Geralt shifted so he could kiss Jaskier’s face. He wished he could reach the scales that peppered up his jaw just to know how Jaskier might react to have them kissed. Geralt wanted to do everything. To take, to give. He sucked in a deep breath and shifted again so Jaskier had to sit up straight.

“Touch me,” Geralt said.

Jaskier shook his head. “No—no, _inside_ me,” he gasped. “If I could sit in your lap, I would, but—” Jaskier’s voice cut off into a strangled cry as Geralt pulled his fingers back.

Geralt didn’t waste a second. He grabbed Jaskier around his sides and yanked him back, away from the pool until only his fins were dipped into the water. He laid Jaskier back on the ground then threw his leg over Jaskier’s tail. For a moment, Geralt just knelt there, straddling low on Jaskier’s hips. Jaskier was trembling; he looked like he was high on this, on pleasure, on Geralt being so close. Geralt could smell it on him, too, the arousal. It was different, but the familiarizes were all there resting right below the surface.

“I can’t believe you tried to keep this from me,” Geralt grumbled. He pressed his fingers right back into Jaskier, pulling him open all over again. Jaskier’s back arched and he cried out.

“I—I thought you’d find it—strange,” he hiccupped, closing his eyes tightly.

“Nothing of the sort.” Geralt promised.

One he was satisfied with his work, he pulled his hand back and focused on himself, instead. He worked his trousers down his hips, just far enough that he could work his cock out and stroke himself. Jaskier’s eyes were transfixed, jaw dropped open. There was a shiver that took hold of his body as he stared at Geralt’s thick cock. He wanted that inside of him. He wanted it down his throat. He wanted his hands around it. Jaskier looked _wrecked_ and they hadn’t even begun.

Geralt stroked over Jaskier’s cock once more, collecting more of his strange, slippery slick to stroke that over his own cock. Jaskier whimpered as he watched it.

“You’ll have to tell me how you do this one day,” Geralt said. He stroked his cock once more, squeezing right at the head. Jaskier watched the bead of precum that dripped down and gulped.

“In the water,” he said. “Lots of—um,” he gulped again, watching as Geralt shifted down and held his cock right against Jaskier’s opening. “Tail tangling,” Jaskier finished.

Geralt rolled his hips forward slowly, at first. He closed his eyes as he breached Jaskier, groaning as he was overtaken with a wet, _tightness_ all around him. Jaskier cried at the intrusion, but his hips bucked enthusiastically. He wanted more, and Geralt gave him more. He didn’t stop moving, not until he was pressed into Jaskier as deeply as he could be. At that point, it was like Jaskier wasn’t even breathing. His fins were flapping uselessly in the water, and his eyes had glazed over—jaw, dropped open in a quiet moan.

Geralt leaned over him and threaded his fingers back through Jaskier’s hair.

“Stay with me,” he said. “I want you to feel this. Every _piece_ of it.”

Jaskier nodded frantically. “Geralt—oh, Geralt, please.”

Geralt rocked his hips once, twice. He took it slow, settling into a rhythm that had Jaskier whimpering, moaning each time Geralt bottomed out inside of him again. He braced himself, hands around Jaskier’s head, hunched over him. There was nowhere else for Jaskier to look but him, staring right at him. He watched how Geralt’s face twisted up with his own pleasure. Jaskier was tight around him, so perfectly tight. So _wet_. Geralt grunted with the effort of each thrust, groaned with the hot pressure around his cock.

Jaskier felt amazing. Felt better than any man or woman Geralt had taken to bed. And the way Jaskier looked at him like that—big, beautiful, blue eyes, reddened lips parted with every moan, every gasp as they rutted together, rocked along the ground.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Geralt groaned. He swooped down all at once and captured Jaskier in a kiss.

Jaskier keened against him, back arching as he suddenly took a tight grip around Geralt’s shoulders. Everything turned to fire, instantly. Jaskier’s entire body tingled as Geralt’s pace picked up, ramming into him. As deep as he could go. Jaskier could feel every inch Geralt disappeared inside of him. The thickness of it. Geralt’s cock was hot, twitching inside of him. Jaskier couldn’t contain his moans; his own hips worked tirelessly.

“Oh, fuck, Geralt—!” Jaskier cried out, throwing his head back.

Geralt didn’t relent. He felt how Jaskier squeezed down around him, spasmed as his orgasm overwhelmed him. Geralt didn’t stop. He took advantage of Jaskier’s sudden position, running his lips and teeth down the column of Jaskier’s neck. He lapped over his gills, along the jut of his jaw. He finally had his moment to run his kisses over the scales that lined Jaskier’s face, and the way Jaskier trembled was worth the wait. Jaskier was rambling words, Geralt’s name, anything that he could get his mouth to form the sound for.

“Geralt, Geralt, Geralt!” Jaskier moaned, dragging his claws up Geralt’s back. If not for Geralt’s shirt, Jaskier would have shredded his skin right open. Left his own scars for Geralt to carry, but these ones, he would treasure. If Jaskier wanted to bite him, claw at him, Geralt would let it happen. This was one battle he wouldn’t mind losing.

He pulled back and braced himself on Jaskier’s hips, instead. He could see the mess Jaskier left over himself, splattered high through the force of his orgasm. It spurred Geralt on. He fucked into Jaskier as hard as he could, fast, tilting his hips until he had Jaskier all but screaming his name. It didn’t take long after that; Geralt’s hips began to stutter, and his grip got harder. Jaskier never once complained. No, he begged for more. He begged and begged until there was nothing left to beg for, because Geralt was finally coming. Deep, right inside of him.

Jaskier finally went lax against the stone, panting heavily. His gills flapped, looking for extra air in the water they wouldn’t find here. Geralt’s hips bucked abortively until his orgasm passed, and then, he pulled out of Jaskier as slowly as he could. Jaskier let out the smallest little whimper at the loss, but he didn’t move. He watched, instead, as Geralt settled down beside him. Geralt had left his boots on the beach, this time, and he let his feet dangle off the edge _and into the sea_.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> monster chapter

Nothing had changed, so Geralt couldn’t stay moping at the edge of the water. He needed to move on and continue the investigation. Jaskier clearly wasn’t here, which meant Geralt was now faced with a whole plethora of horrible options. At the very least, he hoped to find Jaskier alive. Even if he were to find him skinned of his scales and barely holding on, that was still better than _dead_. Geralt didn’t want to think about finding him dead.

He pulled himself together and mounted Roach. He’d head north. The last time, he’d gone south. He hadn’t made any headway south. The town was south. The docks were south. Nothing. He pulled on Roach’s reins and sent her north along the beaten trail.

It wasn’t too far north that Geralt came across another small town. It wasn’t much of a town, really. In fact, he was sure that it wouldn’t even show up on the map if he were to look at one. Despite its small size, it had its priorities as about as set as they could be. While he doubted he’d find another inn for miles, he did come across a clearly marked tavern. Maybe it was a tavern that offered a room or two to whatever lucky traveler got to it first, but Geralt wasn’t looking for a place to stay.

He was looking for a place to find information, and there was no better place to get that from than a tavern. No better to hear it from than the drunk, lonely fucks he always found inside. It might also be nice to spend a coin or two on something warm to eat. Worry had kept him from eating, and despite how inconvenient it was to need a meal every now and again, Geralt would be no use to Jaskier if he couldn’t focus. With that in mind, he stopped at the tavern and tied Roach to the fence just outside.

As he stepped inside, Geralt was greeted with exactly what he suspected he’d find. Loud, obnoxious music came from the back of the tavern, and the rest of the area was full of obnoxious patrons clanging their ale tankards together and laughing at stories equally as disgusting as they were. It was just the sort of place Geralt frequented with his work as a Witcher, but that didn’t make it feel comfortable or familiar. If anything, it was just an unfortunate necessity.

Geralt made his way straight to the counter, trying to ignore the stench of piss and ale. Behind the was some none too friendly looking man, who glared at Geralt as he approached. There wasn’t a crude stare or comment that Geralt wasn’t used to hearing, but he wasn’t used to a stare like that being accompanied with service. It usually meant he was kicked right back out.

“What can I get you?” The man asked, clearly unhappy about it.

“Whatever’s edible,” Geralt said, passing over just a couple of silvers. It was all he was willing to spend.

The man grumbled under his breath, but he took the coin and went on his way to collecting some stew in a bowl. As he did, Geralt turned to face outward into the tavern, leaning up against the bar. The quickest way to scope out a story was to let the story come to him. He could always find an angry patron. Most of them were more than happy to turn their anger towards him, because he deserved it for existing, alone. At first, nobody approached.

It was a welcome change of pace. Things were getting boring; it wasn’t often that Geralt had to chase down his information. Most of these patrons seemed too wrapped up in their own conversations to really care, but there were a few already staring. Staring, but not engaging. Geralt was more than happy to let them, especially as he was brought his stew. It smelled divine, but for as hungry as he was, anything would have. He grabbed the bowl by the lip and carried it over to a small, empty table tucked up near the wall.

He wasn’t one spoonful down before someone had finally had enough of his walking, breathing, and eating. He wasn’t alone, either. As the first man made his move, others joined him in a sudden spur of confidence. They were always more confident in groups, but even four of them wouldn’t be enough to actually do anything. Geralt was armed, armored. They looked to be no more than farmers with little else to do.

“Who gave you the right to be here, Witcher?” One sneered.

“The open door,” Geralt responded. “Walked right in. Thought I’d get something to eat.” He wasn’t in the mood for this, but if it got him one step closer to Jaskier, then he’d deal with it.

“Ain’t nobody round here wants you here,” another offered.

“I wasn’t looking for permission,” Geralt grumbled. “Nowhere else to get a decent meal.” He offered a mock cheer with his spoon before taking the bite.

“Oh, I can show you right where you can park your mutant, magic arse—” a third one forced his way forward and slammed something down on the table, hard enough to shake Geralt’s bowl. Geralt glanced, and he saw the parchment beneath the man’s hand. “Go to where all the other freaks go.” The man laughed. His companions seemed to find his humor quite stellar, as they laughed with him. “Sure they’d be glad to house you up for a bit. New attraction, an ugly fucking Witcher!”

They all howled like fat, cocksure monkeys with their laughter. The man finally pulled his hand away, and Geralt could see exactly what he’d been offered. He nearly choked on the chuck of meat in his throat. He saw Jaskier. It couldn’t have possibly been anyone else—how many fish people existed who looked just like that? Big blue eyes, brown hair, that flashing, gorgeous tail. It had to be Jaskier. Painted, right there on this piece of parchment like some fucking advert.

First, Geralt noticed just how terrified the painting looked. He must have been projecting, because there was no artist in the land who would paint something to look that afraid. Second, he noticed what the advert was actually for.

“What is this!?” Geralt boomed, rising up to his feet. He grabbed the parchment and crumbled it in his palm. The sudden movement, the loudness of his voice, had the patrons back to shitting in their pants instead of boasting their pride. “Where is it?!”

Geralt knew what it was. He’d read the parchment. It was calling itself a carnival, but it was nothing more than a glorified horror show. Come one, come all, to see the monsters captured and held in tiny dark cages for the enjoyment of those who would only appreciate their life from behind iron bars. Jaskier wasn’t a monster, but like most things people pointed at with fear, he would have simply stayed to himself if left alone. So many monsters would attack unprovoked, but none of _those_ were listed on the parchment. These were cowards with weapons.

“You really thinking about going?” The man who had provided it scoffed, nearly laughed. “Couple town’s north, last I heard. If you’re fast enough, bet you can even catch’em before they pack up and leave. Traveling peoples and all, sure you must know.”

Geralt stuffed the crumbled paper in his pocket and went straight for the door, his meal left forgotten. He could hear their mocking about how eager he was to go and join his own kind, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care about them, nor did he care about the food. He cared about Jaskier, and if they were right, Jaskier was just a few days north. He was so close, but Geralt could have missed him entirely if not for that one obnoxious cretin of a man.

Suddenly, Geralt wasn’t hungry; he was desperate. He yanked Roach’s reins free and mounted, pulling her away from the tavern. Right back on the road. They would go as far as Roach could take them or the sun finally fell, whichever happened first. When they could go no further, Geralt would stop and camp like he was used to. He’d eat then, if he could even stomach something. He didn’t think he’d be able to; if it came down to it, he’d drink a potion to keep himself going.

Really, he wasn’t expecting this to be much of a fight. No _carnival_ boasting the capture of a merman was going to be particularly skilled in the fighting department. It wasn’t hard to catch merpeople. Finding them was the difficult part, but once they were caught, they were caught. Out of the water, they were defenseless, and that terrified Geralt more than anything. Even if the Jaskier on his parchment was clearly in a tank of water, the way he was curled up meant it was small, so he didn’t have the space to defend himself, either.

How was Geralt going to get him back to the water? The next town north was at least a day’s ride to the sea, and that was if Geralt chose a path straight as the crow flies. But that wasn’t Jaskier’s water; it wasn’t home. While he may have been more than capable of swimming home, that was still putting Jaskier in danger. He didn’t have any superpowers that would allow him to go the whole way through the water. Jaskier would be fine, but after this, Geralt didn’t think he’d be able to stand anything other than delivering Jaskier personally right back to his stretch of the sea.

When he stopped for the night, Geralt caught himself something, skinned it, and cooked it. He settled himself down in the grass, leaning up against a tree, and stared at it for a long time before finally taking a bite. They’d made good distance, but eventually, Roach had to stop. Geralt had used that time to set up his makeshift camp, catch himself a meal, and build himself a fire. Now, the sun was setting, and all he could do was wait until sleep came.

“I should just throw him back in the water, shouldn’t I?” Geralt muttered, eying Roach like she could actually respond. “Probably be best, but that still doesn’t explain how I would _get_ him there.”

Roach didn’t have anything helpful to add. She was munching on grass and could not speak. Geralt took another bite out of his makeshift meal and sighed. He could probably wait to figure this out until he knew what he had to work with. Still, he worried. His worry was eating him alive. This wasn’t like him. There hadn’t been a single person or other that he’d ever spent this much time worrying about, but before Geralt knew it, he was going over scenarios in his head of how he might have been able to prevent that.

As if that were even possible. They’d been separated for nearly two weeks before Geralt had returned to the water. With his stupid golden necklace gift. Jaskier had been taken at some point during then, which only served to worsen Geralt’s fear. Just how _long_ had Jaskier been a prisoner? Prisoner was infinitely better than scaled alive or dead, but still, it wasn’t freedom. It wasn’t Jaskier swimming out in the wide-open sea where he belonged.

Geralt could only hope that he was going to make this trip in time. Something had already happened to Jaskier because it’d taken him so long to get back to the water. If something worse happened because Geralt was too slow to find him, he’d never forgive himself.

He ate with these thoughts. He went to sleep with these thoughts. Geralt woke up with them, too.

After a brief breakfast, Geralt started the day all over again. It was his second day on the trail, and it went exactly how the first had gone. They road for as long as Roach could go, and then they stopped and made camp. Geralt trapped himself a meal and stared into the fire as he thought about every horrible thing his mind could provide. Come morning, he repeated the process for the third day.

By midday, Geralt came across none other than this awful monster sideshow. He could tell that’s just what it was from the offensive booths set up, the obnoxious bard music playing. But more than that, he could _smell_ it. He could smell the fear, the stench of wild creatures. Some of them he was sure weren’t even what they were claimed to be, because he could smell that sweet stench of magic beneath the rest of it. Illusions meant to con the stupid out of their coin.

Fine; Geralt didn’t care if people lost their coin to lies, but he wouldn’t have Jaskier a part of it. The only problem was, he couldn’t exactly go waltzing right in from the road. He didn’t have anything to disguise himself, and there was something telling him that a Witcher wouldn’t be welcome at a carnival filled with things he was known for slaying. They might think him hostile, and while that may have been an accurate assumption, Geralt wouldn’t let it get in his way of rescuing his fish.

He pulled Roach off to the side of the road and into the thick of the trees. He dismounted once they were far enough in that she wouldn’t be seen and didn’t bother tethering her up to a tree. She wouldn’t run, but if she did, it would have been for good reason. Her safety was not something he would take from her. He pressed a hand into her cheek and petted the other down the length of her face.

“Wait for me,” he told her. She responded with some snort and clopped her hooves into the ground. “I’ll bring him back safely. Somehow,” Geralt sighed.

He headed off in the direction of the carnival. As much as he wanted to keep an ear on it, he wanted to keep an eye on it, so he could find his way around to the back. Hopefully, he’d be able to find Jaskier one way or another as he worked his way around the different cages and tents.

Most of them stunk of bad magic and inadequacy, so Geralt continued. He remembered Jaskier’s scent better than he remembered anything; somehow, Jaskier had always managed to smell like honeysuckle and lavender. How he could manage that when his life was spent in the sea where neither of those two things existed, Geralt could never figure out. He didn’t care, either, because it was a scent he was beginning to associate with the silly things like home and comfort.

He followed that scent right to the edge of the carnival, where the air turned a bit cold. Jaskier wasn’t the only sea creature, but he was the only truly sentient one. And there he was. Geralt paused behind a tree to look at him, to try and assess the damage. It was horrible. Geralt felt his heart clench and his stomach drop just at the sight of Jaskier, cooped up in that little tank. The water didn’t even look clean, anymore, and there was no doubt that it could be.

All creatures had to expel waste. In the ocean, it didn’t matter, but in such a confined space, Jaskier’s water was turning an opaque green. It must have felt disgusting, but at the same time, it was the only added defense he had against the sun. They were right in the midst of the hottest part of the year, and while other animals or creatures were confined to shaded areas, Jaskier was right out in the open. Geralt knew they’d done it on purpose. Everything about Jaskier’s situation looked like a punishment.

The small tank. The unclean water. The fact that he was in the sun. And it all led to one horrible thing beginning to happen around his arms. Jaskier spent most of his time in the position he was in as Geralt looked at him—curled up in on himself in a desperate attempt to minimize what skin the sun could hit. His chest and abdomen were only beginning to tinge red, but his arms looked burnt and cracked. Geralt couldn’t leave him there. He had to figure out a way to rescue Jaskier before the damage was irreversible.

Geralt had never heard of sea-people living in captivity, but if this went bad enough, Jaskier may be the first one. Geralt would figure it out. He would do whatever he had to if it meant Jaskier would be comfortable, happy. This was unacceptable.

He pushed his way through the forest and found his way around the trees until he was on the backside of the tank. There weren’t any people down on this side of the carnival, which meant Geralt was safe to approach. Still, he did so slowly and low to the ground. When he approached Jaskier’s tank, he pressed his hand up against it slowly. Jaskier jolted at the sudden sound, feeling the vibration before he heard the clunk. He looked terrified, but the terror vanished just as quickly as Geralt pushed slightly up from the ground.

“Geralt—”

“Shut up,” Geralt huffed. “Tell me everything.”

Jaskier shook his head. “I—I don’t know much. Torven and Hall, they’re behind this. One’s tall, the other’s short. Comical sort of team, you know?” Jaskier sucked in a deep breath and pressed his hands into his red-tinged face. “They—I don’t know where they are. I’ve been here for ages. Geralt, please, you have to get me out of here.”

“I’m going to, promise,” Geralt said. He watched as Jaskier shifted against the side of the tank, pressing his webbed fingers up against the glass where Geralt’s hand still was.

“ _Please_ ,” Jaskier whimpered. “I don’t know what’s happening.”

“It’ll be alright,” Geralt insisted. “Just breathe. I’ll be back for you.”

“Wait—wait, you’re leaving? No, no—” but as Jaskier jostled, the water sloshed. It brought attention. Geralt couldn’t stay.

“Tonight,” Geralt promised, and he ducked back off into the woods before people approached the tank.

Geralt found the nearest tree and just pressed himself against the backside of it, closing his eyes and listening. Two people had approached Jaskier, and just as he described, one was tall and the other was short. There hadn’t been many people in the area, so Geralt could only assume the carnival was closing for the night. The only two people they _could_ be were the ones Jaskier had described. But he listened. He listened and he memorized the horrid influx of scents that came with them.

“That’s the most exciting thing that thing’s done since we brought it out here,” Torven said. “What’s got you so excited, fish?”

Jaskier turned and glared at them. He didn’t speak. Geralt figured it was the one ounce of power he still had left. He didn’t have to communicate with these people, even if he had to suffer their consequences.

“It’s a fucking brat,” Hall said. “How much longer are you going to play this game, Torv, before you let me whack its tail off and make some money?”

“Patience,” Torven insisted. “It’ll work harder if it knows what’s good for it. Look at its arms.” Torven pointed through the glass. “Won’t be long before it starts to crack. After that, we can just _peel_ the skin right off.”

Jaskier huddled his arms back to his chest and tried to make himself small. It wouldn’t work. He had nowhere to run, nowhere to go. He could only _suffer_.

Geralt sighed something deep, right from the gut, and gripped his fists into the side of the tree. It took all of his strength not to lash out at them, immediately. These were real monsters, not the creatures they’d captured or the animals who were forced through magic. Witchers killed monsters. Even if those monsters were humans—Geralt still took care of them. These people couldn’t be allowed to continue, but even then, it was secondary. Geralt had to make sure Jaskier was set up to leave.

As the evening continued, Geralt just scouted. He knew the entire map of the carnival, by now. He knew where the animals were, where the supplies. Being a Witcher wasn’t always a blessing, but when it was, it was in moment’s like this were Geralt’s rescue mission was going to be easier than it might have been for another person. In his searching, by sense alone, he found a carriage. This scenario meant dealing with Torven and Hall wasn’t a secondary mission; it was the first step in being able to save Jaskier.

He waited until the evening molded into night. He could hear as the close up really got underway; there were more people, but Geralt didn’t know what sorts of threats they could pose. Most people saw him and cowered, even if they could talk a bigger weapon than they could swing. He wouldn’t be bothered. This little collection of carts and riffraff was Torven and Hall’s investments. Geralt could only assume that meant they cared about it. If they were the ones capturing the creatures, they might even fight back.

Geralt threw back a potion just to make sure he could do this. He didn’t care what it did to him, if it made him look like a monster with blackened eyes and horrid veins. He was saving Jaskier. Nothing else mattered. This wasn’t something he even had the intention of talking his way out of. As he turned the side of his hiding tree, he drew forth a sword. That would make his intentions quite clear.

His first step into the carnival put most of the proceedings straight to a halt. People carrying all manners of feed and crates stopped to look at him, but just as Geralt suspected, not a one of them moved to face him. Not a one of them even spoke to him, too afraid. How many of them had seen a Witcher, let alone heard what they could do? Their terror was the perfect draw. Geralt just marched right into the little encampment, sword still drawn.

“We’re closed!” There came a sudden booming voice. Torven stepped out from a tent. “Don’t you have any sense!?”

Geralt raised up his sword; Torven hadn’t come near him, and nor had Geralt approached, but Geralt was ready to strike him down, regardless. The only problem was that Torven didn’t even look terrified. He looked like this was the exact situation he expected and gestured for Hall to join him from the tent.

“You have something of mine,” Geralt growled.

“Oh, do we?” Torven looked impressed. “This must be the same Witcher who was so kind enough to lead our pretty fish to shore. I have to thank you for doing something so stupid. You can’t imagine how easy a fish is to catch when it’s gone and beached itself.”

Geralt’s lips hardened into a frown. This wasn’t his fault. This wasn’t Jaskier’s fault. He wouldn’t let these people convince him otherwise. It did, however, confirm one horrible thing. Jaskier had been in their hold since he’d left the first time, after that beautiful moment together. Jaskier had been plunged right into Hell, and Geralt had nearly arrived too late to drag him out of it.

“If you let him go, I’ll spare your lives,” Geralt said, his voice gruff.

“You think this is open for negotiations? That things tail alone would keep us fat for life! Imagine what a Witcher’s head would do. Oh!” Torven broke out into a bout of laughter. “We’d be set forever.”

Torven didn’t move, but Hall did. He caught Geralt by surprise or thought he did. It was impossible to catch a Witcher on surprise, unless that Witcher were off his game. Geralt wasn’t. He was so focused that Hall’s first move was expected, and his second was novice. He had a weapon, nothing more than a club, but he made up for the savagery of it with his intense strength. The way he moved on his feet was more than practiced, though it was sloppy. He probably trained alone—ingrained the mistakes

Geralt recoiled, then struck. Hall missed him on the upswing but caught him on the back swing. Geralt met the edge of his club on his blade and deflected it. He could make this a fair fight, but he had no interest in it. He took one step back, deflecting Hall’s quick strike once more. All he needed was that second, just a single second to reach forth and draw the sign of Igni in the air. In the next second, Hall rebounded back, flying into the ground and scraping his way through the grass.

Geralt didn’t hesitate. He wouldn’t. The consequences he faced would be meaningless, but Jaskier could die. That was the last thing Geralt wanted. He stepped forward, and in that moment, he learned just how helpless Torven was. Hall was the muscle. Torven was something else entirely, but it was worthless in a fight. When Geralt struck, Torven fell. Geralt’s sword sliced right through his middle, and Geralt hoped that it hurt. He hoped Torven would _suffer_ as he fell to the ground, clutching at his entrails.

Then, Geralt stalked towards Hall, who had pulled himself off the ground. He was weakened, face bleeding. Something must have been broken, given the way that he limped, but Hall wouldn’t be put down like some dog. Even wounded, he was going to try to fight for the promise of eternal riches. He could have those in the afterlife where it didn’t matter. Geralt approached him, and the force of Hall’s own strike sent him back down to the ground. Geralt struck true in the following second, severing Hall’s head right from his shoulders.

At least he’d been worth the fight. Geralt could respect that, even if Hall deserved the death he now faced. With the both of them dead, Geralt turned back to face the rest of the camp.

“Does anyone else want to defend this?” Geralt boomed, but no one rose to arms. If anything, they were more than _happy_ to drop their crates and their jobs. “Free these creatures!” Geralt demanded. “Leave the fish for me. No one touches the cart.”

Nobody would dare fight Geralt after that; if anything, they were being freed just as much as the creatures were. They were grateful for Geralt’s blundering attack.

Geralt turned his attention from the people to the back of the carnival. As he walked, he whistled through his fingers to call for Roach. She would have to carry the cart. Geralt approached Jaskier quickly, pressing his hands up against the glass to meet Jaskier’s.

“You came back—” Jaskier’s voice caught in his throat, breaking with emotion.

“We’re getting you home. Is there anything I can move you into?”

Jaskier shook his head. “I don’t know. I was in a bigger box when I got here, but I haven’t seen it since I was moved. Geralt, please—”

“It’ll be alright. Give me time to find it.”

Jaskier nodded quickly. He trusted Geralt. Geralt wouldn’t leave him here or use his moment of vulnerability for riches. Geralt was here to rescue _him_ , because he wanted to. Because—maybe, just maybe, Geralt even loved him. Jaskier could hope for it. Pray for it. He settled down into the corner of the tank as Geralt pulled away, looking to the tents.

Geralt tore through the tents, searching for supplies, for tanks. Anything that would work. He would leave this carnival in shambles if he had to, if it meant getting Jaskier home. Thankfully, it wouldn’t come to that. In the third tent Geralt tried, he found not only a tank big enough for Jaskier to actually move in, but a large barrel of clean water.

With adrenaline coursing through his veins, the panic with the help of the potion, Geralt had no trouble dragging everything over to Jaskier’s current tank. Jaskier didn’t have the energy to perk up, to look excited, but Geralt could see how his eyes went a little wide. Jaskier watched with growing interest as Geralt readied the larger tank with newer water. He’d even brought a long leather cover which might provide some sort of shade as Geralt transported him back home.

“Alright,” Geralt grumbled, stepping up to the side of the tank. “I need your help for this.”

Jaskier nodded. He was going to have to pull himself up and out of the tank just as much as Geralt was going to have to hoist him the rest of the way. Jaskier mustered whatever strength he had left, which wasn’t much. He was tired, starving, and burning. But the promise of home gave him enough of a surge that he could grab the edge of the tank and _pull_. It was hard. He grunted, and his arms shook with his effort. But he did it. He did it, and then he could feel Geralt’s warm hands wrapping around his biceps.

Geralt tugged the rest of the way, huddling Jaskier up in his arms for the short trip from one tank to the other. The relief that washed over Jaskier’s face was worth every second of this ordeal, the way he just beamed with a sudden joy. Jaskier didn’t look right doing anything but smiling. Geralt was glad to see it, as he lowered Jaskier into the second tank. Geralt meant to drop him all the way to the floor of it, but Jaskier held on tightly to his neck to press a quick kiss against his lips.

A moment later, too overwhelmed and tired, Jaskier dropped into the water. It sloshed, but the coolness of it felt like pure curative against his burns. Jaskier smiled, letting himself relax against the floor.

“Thank you,” he said.

Geralt returned a light smile. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to. Jaskier knew, right there, with that look on his face, that there wasn’t a situation out there that Geralt wouldn’t rush to rescue him from. It felt too much like love, and that idea had Jaskier’s heart pounding in his chest. It was a question better saved for later when they both weren’t high on adrenaline.

The rest of the setup was difficult, but Geralt managed. He got the tank into the cart, and he got Roach hooked up to the cart. She would take them all the way back to that stretch of beach where their cave stuck up out of the sea. That was home, and that was where Jaskier needed to be. Once everything was setup, Geralt pulled himself up into the driver’s portion of the cart. He took one glance behind him, like he didn’t actually believe Jaskier was there.

Jaskier was there, and this time, he had proper coverage from the sun. It would still be a dreadful trip back to the sea, but as long as he was there, his wounds were sure to heal. Geralt hadn’t a clue how long it would take, given the size of the burn and the severity of it, but the open water would do Jaskier some good. Even just being able to relax might mean things would start to heal. He was so focused on being afraid that he was forgetting himself.

With that, Geralt snapped the reins and headed Roach back down the path. South, this time, straight to the sea. Jaskier grunted at the first move of the cart as it jostled him but settled down into the bottom of the tank as they hit their stride. Geralt was no doubt going faster than he ought to, but Jaskier shared his urge for haste. He wanted to be home as much As Geralt wanted to get him there.

“How long will it take?” Jaskier piqued up. They hadn’t been on the road for more than a few minutes.

“Days,” Geralt responded. “They carted you off rather far.”

Jaskier deflated. “Will I—?”

“No,” Geralt said, firmly. “You won’t die. I won’t let that happen.”

Jaskier tried not to feel too fond at the statement. Geralt had said it with such ferocity that it must have meant something. Jaskier almost dared to make a comment, but the moment wasn’t right. Instead, he just wrapped his arms around himself as their travel continued in a bated sort of silence.

Just as Geralt said, the trip took days. They only stopped when they had to. Geralt hardly ate, and when he did, it was something small just enough to keep the hunger at bay. He paid more attention to feeding Jaskier than he was feeding himself. As worried as Jaskier was, he was grateful. Geralt didn’t have anything in the way of Jaskier’s normal diet, but he did at least have _food._ Jaskier could ignore the strange way these foreign foods settled in his stomach, because they shut his stomach right up.

Each time, he gave Geralt his thanks. And each time, like clockwork, Geralt grunted at him like it was nothing. But it was something. It was, in fact, everything. Geralt had rescued him, and Geralt took care of him. Most importantly, Geralt ensured that Jaskier’s water was as clear as he could make it. There was no disgust, either, when they stopped along the side of the road for Geralt to do what cleaning needed to be done. If anything, he was disgustingly fond about his short new position as Jaskier’s caretaker.

It brought an unsteady discontentment, that fondness. Something short of unease. This moment between them would be short-lived. As Geralt informed, they were less than a day’s ride from the edge of the sea and Jaskier’s home. Once he was back in the water, Jaskier would be on his own. They would be right back to where they’d been—Geralt visiting when he had the chance, and Jaskier worrying the whole time if Geralt had gotten himself killed and wouldn’t return.

Jaskier was always afraid that Geralt wouldn’t return, but it was for reason of lovelessness. Even if neither one of them had dared to say the words, Jaskier could feel that love stirring between them. Geralt came for him. Geralt cleaned up after him, fed him, and took care of him. If that wasn’t love, then what could it possibly be? Lovelessness wouldn’t keep Geralt from him. But the distance would. And death. Death would keep Geralt from him for a very, very long time.

Even if Geralt could live for hundreds of years, he could be _killed_. His life was unnaturally long, but like any man, it could be cut unnaturally short. Jaskier tried not to think about it, but this moment with Geralt was the best moment he could remember between the two of them. It was a glimpse of what could be, if Jaskier could suddenly grow legs or Geralt, a tail. It wasn’t meant to be, but just a glimpse was enough to make the end of their ride tense and unwanted.

Geralt pulled Roach to a stop as they approached the beach. He stepped down from the cart and went around to the back of it, where Jaskier made a game of making sure he wouldn’t look at Geralt. He didn’t want this to be over.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said; his voice got this way when he wanted something, and Jaskier was helpless but to look at him. “I’m not just going to drop you in the water and leave. I’ll go down with you.”

Jaskier offered a light smile. “Geralt—”

“Later.” Geralt looked like he knew. Jaskier had no way of knowing just what Geralt knew, only that he knew it, and he trusted Geralt with his life.

Jaskier pulled himself to the top of the tank, and when Geralt reached for him, he reached back. It took their combined effort, but it ended with Jaskier dangling in Geralt’s arms like his beautiful fish bride. Jaskier always flushed when Geralt held him, and this time, he made sure to hold back just as tightly. He had his arms wound around Geralt’s neck, squeezing close. Jaskier didn’t want to be dropped off in the sea and forgotten, and he wouldn’t be.

He knew Geralt meant to keep his promise when he sat Jaskier down right at the shore, close enough to the water that he could flap his tail in the waves, but not so close that he could dip away without some intense effort. Jaskier twisted at the waist to watch as Geralt tended to himself, then, working on straps and laces to pull away his armor.

“They didn’t hurt you, did they?” Jaskier asked.

“Not even a scratch,” Geralt promised. “I—probably shouldn’t have killed them.” He sighed, dropping down his swords.

“They deserved it,” Jaskier insisted. “Just look at me if your own intuition isn’t enough of a motivator. They tried to kill me!”

Geralt offered a small quirked grin. “Indeed,” was all he said.

He pulled off his gauntlets and his breastplate, next. Then, he dropped down to one knee to start and unlace his boots. Jaskier simply watched, enamored with the quick way that Geralt worked, with deft and practiced hands. Hands that, all of the sudden, he wanted back on him. He wouldn’t dare ask how long Geralt would stay with him, though. He feared the answer. He feared, even more, that with his current state of duress, Geralt wouldn’t want to touch him at all.

When Geralt finished with his armor, left down to just his trousers and a shirt, he went to Roach. He wouldn’t leave her hooked up to the cart any longer. He unhooked everything, tugged at the unfamiliar reins, and freed her. Then, with a stroke to her mane, he smiled at her.

“Don’t go far,” he said. Jaskier was hopeful when he heard that, that maybe Geralt intended to leave Roach to her own devices while he stayed in the water for a day or two. Jaskier wouldn’t force it, but it would only be polite to ensure he was on his way to mending before rushing back into danger.

Roach was plenty well behaved. If she needed to run off for food, she would return. Geralt trusted that. She always came when she was called, no matter how far. Geralt offered her one more pat to the neck before she trotted off to the other side of the road, where the sand turned into grass. She didn’t go any further, stopping to bend down and take her first bite. She hadn’t been eating much, either—like master like horse.

With that dealt with, Geralt turned back to Jaskier. Jaskier didn’t have much time to take it in, because he might have asked about the bag Geralt still had strapped around his waist. Any question, thought, or other died right on Jaskier’s lips as Geralt reached down and hoisted him up into the air.

“You know, if not for the fact that you’re quite honestly the most strapping man I’ve ever met,” Jaskier began, reaching up to twirl a finger through Geralt’s hair, “I would complain about this carrying business. You’re quite sweet about it, however.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow at him.

“I feel a bit more like _me_ and less like a dead fish,” Jaskier clarified, laughing quietly. Hall had tossed him over his shoulder like a sack of lifeless nothing. Geralt held him in a way that he was comfortable and in a way that wouldn’t hurt him.

Geralt just grunted in response and headed for the line of the water. The first rush of waves against his ankles nearly had him shivering. It was cold, and he wasn’t ready for this. He’d taken his potion while Jaskier wasn’t looking, and the rest was just wading into the waters. When they got out far enough, he released Jaskier and didn’t last a second longer.

Jaskier grabbed him by the arm and tugged him down into the water, and then through the water. Back in his home, back in the sea, Jaskier’s wounds almost meant nothing. If anything, Geralt watched in front of him as the light sparkle of healing began. It wouldn’t be anything quick or overly spectacular, but he could _see_ how home made a difference. He went limp as Jaskier’s hold and allowed Jaskier to drag him down deep enough that their cave entrance was easily reached.

No time wasted, then. Geralt was almost impressed. As they approached the entrance pool, Jaskier let Geralt go after one hard tug to send him out in front. Geralt did the rest, swimming for the pool and tugging himself up into the cave. As he sat down, settled with his feet still in the water, Jaskier popped up after a moment later. Jaskier didn’t pull himself up. Instead, he just rested his arms and head on the edge of the ground, head tilted so he could look right at Geralt.

“Have I thanked my glorious knight?” Jaskier asked.

“Once or twice,” Geralt gruffed. “Have you more words of thanks?”

“Oh, quite a lot of them. I had a few ideas for a more action-oriented bout of gratitude, if you’ve a mind for it.” Jaskier offered the coyest smile he could manage. “Geralt?”

Geralt hummed in response, still trying to mull over what it was Jaskier had said. His mind reeled with possibilities, all of them good.

“I—well. I don’t want to be forward.”

“You’re always forward.” Geralt snorted. “I haven’t asked you to change, so why would you? Be as forward as you like.”

“I love you,” Jaskier said, point-blank. It felt like the only sword Geralt would ever welcome being stabbed with.

The words took him aback. Shocked him. Geralt didn’t know what to say for the longest moment, so all he could do was breathe. He breathed deeply, gripping fists into the side of the pool. He looked down at Jaskier, whose face was dropping more by the second. That was a look Geralt didn’t want to see. He couldn’t have Jaskier thinking that he didn’t love him. That’s what it was, wasn’t it? Love for a loveless Witcher. Witchers didn’t feel things, except he was feeling everything.

“Say that again,” Geralt muttered.

“I love you,” Jaskier repeated, enthusiasm renewed. He pushed himself off the ground so he could use Geralt’s thighs for support, instead. “I love you, Geralt. I love you. I love you _so_ much, knowing you don’t love me back would hurt worse than anything those two cretins could have done to me. _Please_ , Geralt. I love you. I love you—”

“Alright, alright,” Geralt groaned. “Shut up. Please, I—” He didn’t think he could take another heartfelt confession. It might kill him. Instead of responding immediately, he opened up his soaked little bag and rummaged around for what he’d brought. His long, golden necklace.

Jaskier’s eyes lit up at the sight of it. It was beautiful. Made of long layers, draped around each other. It was one of the most beautiful things Jaskier had ever seen, even if it paled in comparison to almost everything in his collection. He’d found those things. Geralt was giving him this. A gift. The first gift he’d ever received, and it was from Geralt.

“I love you, too,” Geralt muttered, though he looked unhappy about having to say it. Jaskier, damned as he be, liked words. Geralt’s actions meant the world, but his words meant more. Somehow. Unspoken words meant the most, and those came as Jaskier popped himself farther out of the water so Geralt could drape the necklace around him. It clasped right at the tip of his spine, and the many layers hung out over his shoulders.

“You can’t imagine how much I want you right now,” Jaskier said in a hurried breath. “I don’t think—you have to stay with me. Please, Geralt. You can’t leave me in this sea. I can’t bear it. Being with you is all that I—it’s all that I want, Geralt, don’t you see?” Jaskier dug his fingernails, claws included, into Geralt’s thighs. Geralt hardly even winced and instead stroked his fingers along the line of Jaskier’s jaw. When he brushed the speckled scales, Jaskier shivered, just like he expected him too.

“I’ll stay for as long as I can,” Geralt promised. Already, he was stewing ideas in the back of his mind, but they didn’t matter. Not when Jaskier was right there in front of him, closing the space between them fast.

Jaskier surged forward for a kiss, and Geralt only barely managed to catch him at his jaw to cradle his head and kiss him back. Jaskier moved against him, tilting his head to the side to kiss him closer. Geralt’s fingers ghosted over his jaw, along the line of it to where his ear began. There, Geralt stroked just where the slippery skin turned into web, and Jaskier shivered against him. Kissed him deeper. When he parted his lips, Geralt took the invitation like a starved man and pressed his tongue into Jaskier’s mouth

Geralt didn’t stand a chance. Jaskier had him right in his grasp, arms around his neck and tongues together. With one great crest of his tail, Jaskier had them both diving back down into the water. Geralt didn’t need a sudden gulp of air, not with the potion, but the shock had him faster than any lack of air did. He wasn’t beneath the surface for a more than a moment before Jaskier’s tail was wrapping around a leg.

“You showed me how humans do it,” Jaskier said without his voice. The words simply rang through in Geralt’s mind. “Let me show you how we do it.”

Geralt nodded, all too enthusiastic. Jaskier surged in to kiss him again, tightening his tail around Geralt’s leg. He scrambled to work at Geralt’s trousers, pulling at his laces and pressing them down his hips. Once that was done, Jaskier grabbed Geralt’s hand and pressed it into the curve of his tail. Geralt understood, instantly. He didn’t need to be told what to do, not when his fingers rubbed against those sensitive little scales. Geralt spread them open to find the skin beneath and the lips of Jaskier’s slit.

Jaskier let out the prettiest little gasp, bubbles escaping into the water. His grip on Geralt’s leg tightened, fins flapping uselessly in the water. Geralt’s fingers passed over him, spreading open his slit and feeling right along the inside of the lips. Jaskier’s hips bucked, jolted as Geralt’s fingers slipped deeper inside to find where his cock was beginning to stir. Geralt coaxed it out, rubbing along the slippery underside. He stroked Jaskier, thumbing over the tip in a way that had Jaskier practically keening through the water.

Not to be outdone, Jaskier wrapped his own webbed fingers around Geralt’s cock. His touch was so different, so searingly different that Geralt groaned and leaned closer, rutting his hips into Jaskier’s hand. He pressed his face to Jaskier’s neck, kissing at his skin, his scales, all while they rocked together

“Lower, _please_ ,” Jaskier’s cry rang out at the base of Geralt’s skull.

He responded immediately, releasing Jaskier’s cock in turn for rubbing his fingers in the space right beneath. He didn’t make Jaskier wait for it, not when he was begging so perfectly. He circled around Jaskier’s quivering little opening, teasing him just until he was ready to complain. Then, that complaint died right in a sharp gasp, flapping gills, as Geralt sunk a finger inside. Jaskier’s grip on Geralt’s cock tightened as he tensed at the intrusion, gasping into the water between them. He stroked Geralt with near abandon, his hips bucking wildly.

Geralt carded his free hand through Jaskier’s hair and used the grip to steady him. Jaskier moaned appreciatively, rolling his hips closer into Geralt’s touch. That finger went deep inside of him, working through his passage and massaging all the wet walls that it found. Geralt was deviously good, and Jaskier thought he was moments from falling right apart. As if it couldn’t get any more intense, Geralt worked a second finger into him.

Jaskier grabbed around Geralt’s neck and keened, rutting himself onto those fingers to work them in deeper. Geralt stretched him, rubbed him open. Jaskier was trembling in his hold, and the look on his face said that he was ready. Geralt tried to mind the wounds, but it was becoming clear that Jaskier didn’t care if he had to work for his pleasure. The pain was fine. He just wanted Geralt inside of him, and he showed that with such an enticing little roll of his hips that Geralt couldn’t refuse.

Somehow, the necklace made it all better. Geralt guided his cock right to Jaskier’s hole and pressed inside, and the sudden intensity had Jaskier shaking. Every move of his chest moved the necklace, let it float through the water. It felt so much like ownership that Geralt’s own cock throbbed with his need. He took Jaskier by the hips and yanked him forward until they were flush together, Geralt’s cock buried straight to the base inside of Jaskier’s wet, stretched passageway.

Jaskier cried out, but in the water, it sounded like a _song_. He sang as Geralt rocked into him. They rutted together, panting and gasping in the water between them. Jaskier’s tail tightened on its own, holding Geralt’s leg harder in some attempt to regain control. But he had none. He gave himself over to Geralt, grasping uselessly at his soaked-through shirt just to find some purchase as Geralt’s cock practically pulsed inside of him. He could feel every inch of it, and it was massive inside of him.

Neither one of them were going to last long, but there was no intention of it. They finally met together in a hard kiss as Jaskier’s body trembled with his orgasm. It rushed through him, and as he came, Geralt stroked his spasming cock to help him through it. Jaskier’s tail went lax, after that, but not so much that it let go. It just shifted, wrapping around both of Geralt’s legs like they were a tail, like they could somehow return the favor. Geralt tried, wrapping his arms around Jaskier’s waist to hold him closer.

Geralt groaned into Jaskier’s neck as he came, hips rutting uselessly. The pleasure just coursed through him, made all the more intense with Jaskier’s hands on him. When Geralt’s orgasm ended, he was ready to pull back, but Jaskier’s tail kept him firmly in place. Before explaining himself, Jaskier pet his webbed fingers through Geralt’s hair and just held him. For a moment, he did nothing. After, he pressed their foreheads together and closed his eyes.

“Give me a moment.” Jaskier’s thoughts came through loud and clear. “That was—intense. I—I can feel you.”

“You’re fucking perfect.” Geralt’s thoughts came right back and knowing that had Geralt’s eyes going a bit wide. Jaskier made sure his grip was firm, that Geralt couldn’t pull away in his shock.

“I don’t ever want you to leave. I want you. I want _this_ whenever I can have it.”

“Except I can’t live in the water, Jaskier.”

Jaskier nodded helplessly and pulled away, but Geralt didn’t let him go so far that his cock might slip out. He grabbed Jaskier where his arse might have been if he had one, keeping their hips pressed together. It was the best way he could say what he needed to say with their connection now severed. This wasn’t a _goodbye_. Jaskier wasn’t losing him, just because he couldn’t live in the water.

Seeming to understand, Jaskier gave a hasty nod, followed by a shuddering moan. The feeling of Geralt inside of him was almost too much to take, but he wouldn’t dare ask that it leave. Still, Geralt had to pull back eventually. Jaskier let him, unwinding his tail. Then, in the moment it took for Geralt to collect himself, he lost himself all over again as he watched Jaskier stroke around the lips of his slit before dipping right inside. What followed, as he pulled back, was a stream of Geralt’s own spend right into the water.

Jaskier gave a knowing smirk. If this was all about some possession—the gifts, the fuck, and the desperate need to stay together, then he would just complete the cycle. Many things roamed in this sea, and now so did Geralt. It was, without a doubt, indignant and spiteful. Geralt nearly kissed Jaskier right there for it, but instead, he dragged Jaskier back to the pool. They hadn’t drifted far.

This time, Jaskier pulled himself out of the water so that he could lay down on the ground. He pressed his seared chest right against the stone and sighed in relief as he rested his head in Geralt’s lap. The coolness felt wonderful, like the cracks were already beginning to put themselves back together. With Geralt’s hand through his hair, Jaskier was sure he’d be healed by morning. It was magic.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, his voice rough from the water, “I meant what I said.”

“That you love me?” Jaskier hummed, flicking his fins. “You have to. I wouldn’t stand for the alternative. Now that we’ve officially confessed our mushy, seaweed-y feelings to one another, you’re not allowed another partner—”

“Jaskier—”

“—though I know it may be tempting. Wait. What?” Jaskier looked up at him.

“I don’t have any other partners,” Geralt grumbled, rolling his eyes in the fondest way he could muster. “It’s just you.”

“Oh.” Jaskier said, his eyes wide. “Well! Of course, it is. It has to just be me. I’m better than all of the humans combined, anyway.” But it showed on his face, how touched he was. How in love. How deeply and irrevocably thrust deep into a hot, burning adoration. Geralt felt the same way, even if his face didn’t show it.

“You are,” Geralt said. “I like to think I am, too.”

Jaskier grinned. “My very own Witcher,” he said.

“My very own fish,” Geralt replied. He stroked through Jaskier’s hair once more, and Jaskier knew it was going to be alright.

It might be gifts. It might be nights spent in the cave. It might be as simple as Geralt’s cock inside of him. But things were going to be alright. They were going to be more than alright, all things considered, because Geralt loved him. Geralt was going to keep coming back for him and only him. There was no one else, because Jaskier was better than all of them. Maybe he couldn’t pull Geralt down to sea and keep him there, but he could certainly lure him down beneath the surface every now and again. Only a Witcher was smart enough to outsmart a siren’s call with love.


	4. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short, smutty epilogue to give u a nice idea of where we go from here and also smut because i can't be controlled

Of all of the things Jaskier was, _menace_ was becoming Geralt’s favorite term. He was an absolute menace, and really, Geralt deserved better than this. For all the work that Geralt had done, Jaskier did nothing but take advantage. Geralt used his fame, his newer wealth, to have an entire pool dug out in the free space behind his manor at Corvo Bianco, and Jaskier had dared suggest he find a way to put a cave in it. Geralt had done that, and then Jaskier specified he meant a _cave_ —like the one that they’d had in the Great Sea. He did love his new little home, though.

Geralt got Jaskier his proper cave, and then Jaskier spent ages there. He’d said he was prettying up the place, though Geralt couldn’t imagine with _what_. They’d brought all of Jaskier’s belongings from the sea and put them into this pool—which, Geralt had strained, heaved, and bartered to have filled with water and flora _from_ the Great Sea, so Jaskier would feel at home. The wildlife had come next, and Jaskier had a very particular list of fish and crustaceans he wanted to eat.

Geralt provided. He provided. He _provided_. He still did his work, but he spent a considerable more amount of time with Jaskier than he ever had. They were both grateful for it. Still, Jaskier was a menace. He’d gone to the trouble of inviting Geralt down underwater for dinner—which had been the first clue that something was off. Jaskier could not cook nor serve dinner beneath the water. Jaskier ate fish raw; often, he ate them live. Geralt preferred his meat dead and properly seared over a fire.

Still, ever the proper partner and host to the one and only captive merperson, Geralt drank his potion and stripped down to his smalls to jump into the water. There was no more ruining perfectly good close just for a quick dip with Jaskier. In the privacy of his own land, Geralt could do whatever it was he wanted. That included stripping near naked and swimming through his own veritable sea, though it was incomplete without any placed shipwrecks. He was certainly thinking about finding a way to sink a ship in his lake just to make Jaskier happy.

Geralt swam through the water, straight to the pool of their new air bubble cave. Usually, he saw Jaskier’s tail hanging down in the water. Jaskier just preferred it that way. This time, Geralt saw nothing. He came to the pool and crested, pulling himself out of the water. After that, Geralt didn’t last five seconds before his breath was lost to him.

There was Jaskier, spread out on the cave floor with his fingers ghosting around the lips of his slit. His cock was already out, flopped along his tail and practically dripping in that viscous secretion it produced. Jaskier was flushed from his face to his stomach, and he had an arm outreached for Geralt, beckoning him closer.

“I thought you’d—never come,” Jaskier said, trying to contain himself through his own ministrations. “ _Fuck_ , Geralt, come closer.”

Geralt moved across the floor and stopped right where Jaskier asked him to. _Nicely_ , like he was begging. Jaskier definitely had a talent there, for the begging. He always did it so prettily.

“I’m here now,” Geralt said in his gruff, gravelly voice. “What are you doing?”

“Thinking about you,” Jaskier replied, as if it were obvious, His hips bucked as he dipped into his slit. “I wanted to—wanted to show you something. You’ve done— _ah_ —so much for me. I—do you remember when we did it in the water?”

Geralt nodded. He could never forget.

“There’s— _fuck_ ,” Jaskier gasped, pressing his finger deeper into himself. Geralt was transfixed. “There’s more that we can do. I want to—I want to show you. Think you’ll like it.”

Geralt was already liking this, so he wasn’t about to turn down an invitation to see _more_. Jaskier was beautiful like this, spread out and flushed with his slick finger working inside of himself. Jaskier was clearly skilled in the art of self-pleasure. He knew just where to touch, just how to move and crook his fingers to have himself shaking against the ground.

“Is this what you do when I’m gone?” Geralt asked.

“What else am I to do?” Jaskier panted, pressing his finger in deeper. He quickly added a second one, ensuring the webbing between them couldn’t prevent how deep he could go. “You’ve got yourself a kept fish,” Jaskier continued, tilting his head to really look at Geralt. His jaw dropped open in a quiet moan as he massaged himself. “If you won’t take care of me— _ah_ —”

“Then let me,” Geralt pressed. “I’m here now, and I know exactly what you want.”

Jaskier let out the prettiest little whimper, keening as his shoulders tightened up. “Yes, yes—you can use that deep Witcher voice on me all you want. This time, I won’t give in.”

“You said that last time.” Geralt challenged, inching closer. Jaskier groaned, his hips bucking uselessly against the ground. He held up his hand and shot Geralt a glare.

“ _Stay_ ,” he barked, and Geralt listened. “This is what happens— _ah_ —” Jaskier pressed his fingers deeper, rubbing in just the right spot that his cock jerked against his hip, “—when you leave me, Witcher. You have to _wait_.”

Geralt chuckled. He always liked to see Geralt a little feisty, so he let it slide. He settled himself down to sit so he could properly enjoy the show. Though his cock was beginning to stir, Geralt ignored it in favor for watching Jaskier touch himself, _pleasure_ himself. He moaned so prettily, hips bucking and fins flapping.

“Geralt—” Jaskier gasped as his back arched. He hit something _good_ , and kept his fingers right there, working in little circles. “Oh, fuck, Geralt— _please_.”

“That good?” Geralt hummed. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so fucked.”

Jaskier shuddered, slowing the movement of his hand so he could relax into the ground. He looked at Geralt, cheek near pressed into the cold stone and his hand resting right by his face. It was the prettiest little display Geralt had ever seen, but he still didn’t move. He wouldn’t.

“It only gets better,” Jaskier promised, breathless. His gills flapped along the column of his neck, and he tilted his head back up towards the roof of their cave. “Sometimes,” Jaskier started, removing his fingers in turn for stroking his cock, “it can be lonely out at sea. Thankfully— _oh._ _”_

Geralt’s eyes widened as he watched Jaskier fold his own cock over, right at where it began to taper away from the thick base.

“I never had to go far to find a partner.”

Geralt’s throat went _dry_ as Jaskier pressed the tip of his own cock inside of himself. The tip went in easily; Jaskier stroked along the remaining length, rubbing it along the webbing between his fingers as he pressed deeper. His fins flapped idly, echoing in their closed quarters. Then, Jaskier had the audacity to sigh, smile as he tilted his head again to look at Geralt. His hips rolled, his slit spread, and he accepted _more_ of his own cock. He gasped as it pressed deeper.

Jaskier pressed and rolled his hips up to meet himself until he couldn’t push another millimeter deeper. His whole body trembled, then, as he adjusted to the size of himself. He rubbed the webbing of his fingers over the last bit of his cock still exposed, shuddering at the touch.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Geralt rasped. It was his turn to look fucked—to sound absolutely wrecked. His cock was aching in his breeches, but he wouldn’t dare tear his attention away from this fucking spectacle in front of him. Jaskier was looking at him with half-lidded eyes and a coy little smile like he knew exactly what state Geralt suffered through.

“It’s so fucking good,” Jaskier muttered, his voice half wretched from the feeling. His hips bucked, but he didn’t do anything more than leisurely stroke himself. His eyelids just fluttered; his lips slightly parted as he breathed. He pressed down on his cock and moaned, back arching up. “ _Please_ ,” he gasped. “Geralt—”

“I thought I had to wait.” Geralt smirked.

“Get _over_ here,” Jaskier said, reaching out for Geralt with his free hand. “Please, please. It’s not—it’s not enough.”

Geralt came closer, kneeling at Jaskier’s side and threading his fingers back through Jaskier’s damp hair. He took a sudden and tight grip, pulling Jaskier’s hair back. Jaskier keened, his gills flapping as his pulse quickened.

“Maybe you could get off like this before, nice and slow.” Geralt’s voice was low, and with his free hand, he reached down to stroke right along Jaskier’s slick, where his cock disappeared inside of himself. “But not anymore. I brought you into my bed and showed you what you _like_ , didn’t I? You like it hard. Fast. You know I’m the only one who can give that to you.”

Jaskier’s hips bucked and he nodded uselessly, pressing down on his cock to try and give himself _something_. He could feel how it moved inside of him, and every little jolt just sent lines of pleasure up his spine, but it was Geralt’s hand that made it warm.

“I should make you wait,” Geralt threatened, but the way Jaskier practically came just at the sound of his voice gave him his next course of action.

Geralt pulled away entirely so he could focus on himself. All Jaskier could do was watch and stroke his own cock while Geralt scrambled to get out of his breeches. He pulled his shirt off next, his smalls, until he was entirely naked and throwing a leg over Jaskier’s hips.

“A kept fish, hm?” Geralt hummed, looking down the length of Jaskier’s body.

He was about ready to burst just looking at him. Geralt took hold of his own cock just to squeeze right at the base to keep himself contained. Jaskier was practically glowing. There was no evidence left of his capture; he was just beautiful scales and smooth skin, bright eyes.

“Do kept fish do what they’re told?”

Jaskier nodded, hurriedly. “Yes—yes. Geralt, _please_.”

“Then keep your hands to yourself.” When Jaskier whined, Geralt reached down to press his fingers along the exposed length of Jaskier’s cock, to ensure it stayed just where it was. That seemed to be enough, and though Geralt’s touch was far more teasing than Jaskier’s own had been, Jaskier did what he was told. He rested his hands up by his head, palms up and fingers curled.

“Good,” Geralt praised. Jaskier trembled in response, his fingers twitching. “If I could find a way to take you with me, I’d take care of you no matter where I went.”

Geralt stroked along Jaskier’s cock, following the curve of it right down to where it disappeared into Jaskier’s hole. Jaskier’s breath hitched as he felt Geralt’s fingers ghost along that seam. When Geralt pressed a finger inside, Jaskier’s entire body jolted at the sudden rush of pleasure. The _stretch_ of it—the slight burn. Geralt’s finger sunk right inside, eased by the slick from Jaskier’s cock. At three knuckles deep, Jaskier practically spasmed around him, gripping his fingers into fists.

“Can you take it?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier nodded frantically, bucking his hips up as if to ask for more. Geralt provided, staring slow. He slid his finger in and out, rubbing along Jaskier’s walls. Just searching. Feeling. He kept careful track of each time Jaskier cried out or shifted, flapped his fins against the rocks and just _begged_.

Geralt pressed a second finger right along with the first, then, working them both down slowly. Then, he shifted forward, tilting his hips down so he could rut his own cock against Jaskier’s scales. That had Jaskier near wailing, as the head of Geralt’s cock pressed _up_ when his scales went _down_. The contrast was unbelievable, and Jaskier was suddenly red faced and panting. Then, Geralt did the unthinkable, and wrapped those two fingers so neatly nestled inside of Jaskier around the head of his prick, ensuring that it would stay right where it was as he moved his hand to hold his own cock.

“How long until I can fit this in there too?” Geralt asked as he pressed his cock down against Jaskier’s scales, rolling his hips. He rutted right along Jaskier’s slit.

“Oh—oh, I don’t—” Jaskier’s breath hitched, and he whined as Geralt crooked his fingers. He was stroking just the tip of Jaskier’s cock, too, and it was more stimulation than Jaskier could ever remember. Everything was hot; his mind was going blank. Geralt just had to make it worse by leaning over and running his lips along the scales at Jaskier’s jaw.

“Want to work on it?” He asked, squeezing right around the tip of Jaskier’s cock and pushing everything just _deeper_. Jaskier’s hips bucked, and he just _whined_. “I’ll come in here every day, just for you. Work you open like this, day after day after day, until you can take both of our cocks. I bet you’d like that.”

Jaskier nodded frantically, but he didn’t have the voice left to say anything. He just cried out as the sensations overwhelmed. Geralt fucked him with his fingers, squeezing the tapered head of his cock as he did. Then Geralt’s own, rubbing into his scales, leaving that trial of precum behind. Jaskier couldn’t think anywhere beyond that, especially not when Geralt’s nasty words turned into grunting, moaning at his own pleasure.

He’d been gone for too long and pressed up against Jaskier like this was just doing everything right. The way those scales felt against his cock, pleasure riding on the line of pain. Geralt’s hips bucked, jerked against Jaskier’s tail. He was beyond trying to keep himself composed. His fingers lost their rhythm, but Jaskier didn’t even seem to care. He cried through every swipe of them, every press of those calloused fingertips into his sensitive walls, the head of his cock. _Everything._

“G-Geralt!” Jaskier cried out, his back arching. Oh, it didn’t take him long to dip right over the edge, and Geralt could _feel_ the way his cock pulsed with the sudden overwhelming pleasure, the tip right over the edge. Jaskier lost it, spending inside of himself while Geralt continued to fuck him through it on those massive, skilled fingers of his.

“Oh—oh, fuck,” Jaskier continued. He just babbled.

Geralt didn’t stop. He milked Jaskier’s orgasm right out of him, prolonging it until Jaskier’s body was left trembling, tingling. All the wild, Geralt rutted himself down mercilessly, dragging his cock along Jaskier’s scales. It didn’t take long for him to follow, not with the way Jaskier was looking at him, egging him on. Geralt came, streaking white over Jaskier’s tail, his skin. Even then, Geralt’s hips didn’t calm until he was finished, until he was so exhausted that he could hardly keep himself up.

He pulled his fingers back, Jaskier’s cock popping free as well, and leaned forward. For a moment, Geralt just hovered there above Jaskier, braced on his elbows. The high died a moment later, and then, Geralt finally just kissed him.

“How does it feel to come inside yourself?” Geralt muttered, nosing along Jaskier’s cheek and peppering more kisses.

“Weird,” Jaskier replied. “Make you do it, someday. When I figure out how.”

Geralt snorted. “Whatever you want.”

“Then, I want to come to _your_ world for a bit.” Jaskier said, shifting so he could hold Geralt’s head in his hand and look at him. “You’ve got a tub, don’t you?”

“Would you be alright?”

Jaskier nodded. “It’s the sun that hurts me, you crab, not the air. I want to see your home.”

Geralt agreed. He could arrange that as often as Jaskier wanted. They just had to get to shore, and for the moment, Geralt didn’t want to move much more than what it took to lay down on the ground beside Jaskier. Jaskier curled into him and hummed something beautiful right from the base of his throat—a true song. In the meantime, Geralt just ran his fingers over Jaskier’s hip, drawing little circles over the area. Skin turned to scale, and scale turned back to skin.

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  [Check me out on Tumblr!](https://tantumuna.tumblr.com)   
>  [My Twitter!](https://twitter.com/tantumunawrites)   
> 


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